ain't right, wantin' ya.
âpart twoâ
daryl dixon x fem!reader
â¶âŽ summary: somewhere between meetings and stolen glances across the courtyard, daryl finds himself unravelin' over a girl he knows he shouldn't want.
â¶âŽ tags: nsfw/mdni/18+, prison era, slow burn, age gap, jealous daryl, protective daryl, mutual pining, forbidden romance, sexual tension, apocalypse romance, emotionally repressed daryl, inexperienced daryl / reader
wc: ~ 1,332
âpart oneâ
the heat from the road rose in shimmering waves, but it was nothing compared to the sweltering, suffocating silence hanging between the two of you on the bike.
the asphalt gave way to cracked dirt and overgrown weeds as the motorcycle tore down the old logging trail. the canopy of oak and pine closed in overhead, blocking out the harsh midday sun and swallowing the both of you in shifting, green-tinted shadows. every bump in the road was a deliberate torment. each time the bike hit a rut, your body was thrown hard against darylâs back, your breasts flattening against his spine, your thighs tightening around his hips to keep your balance. under your palms, darylâs stomach muscles were hard as iron, flexing and rippling with every micro-adjustment he made to the handlebars. he wasn't easing up on the throttle. he was riding fast, reckless, driven by a raw kinetic energy that felt less like traveling and more like running away from the edge of a cliff.
you leaned your cheek against his shoulder blade, inhaling deeply. the scent of the lye soap was fading, giving way to the heat of his skin, the familiar musk of stale tobacco, and the hot grease of the engine. he felt immovable beneath you, an unyielding wall of heat that seemed to vibrate in sync with the roaring machine between your legs.
after endless miles, the trees broke. daryl killed the engine, coasting the bike into the dense brush behind a collapsed barn. the sudden silence of the woods was deafening, save for the ticking of the cooling exhaust.
for a long moment, neither of you moved. you were still wrapped around him, your chest rising and falling against his back. daryl sat with his hands still gripping the handlebars, his knuckles white, his head bowed. his breathing was deep, his shoulders rising and falling in uneven cycles.
"get off," he muttered, his voice so thick and gravelly it sounded like it had been dragged through the dirt.
you let your arms drop, sliding off the back of the seat. the moment your boots hit the ground, your knees felt weak, the residual vibration of the bike still humming through your thighs, keeping the deep, throbbing ache between your legs intensely alive.
daryl swung his leg over the bike and stood up, refusing to look at you. he immediately reached for his crossbow, slinging it over his shoulder.
"pharmacy is just through that tree line," he said, his voice tight, his southern drawl cutting sharp through the quiet air. "we do this quick. we do it right. keep your eyes on the tree line while i get the bag. understand?"
"daryl," you said softly, stepping into his space.
"i said, keep watch," he snapped, finally spinning around to face you. his eyes were dark, bloodshot from lack of sleep. the fake composure heâd maintained in front of rick was gone, replaced by a raw, feral frustration. "don't start. not out here. i'm tryin' to keep us alive, and you'reâ" he choked on his own words, his gaze dropping involuntarily to your lips before snapping back to your eyes. "just do what i tell ya."
you stood your ground for a second, the heat radiating off him nearly enough to push you back, before you finally nodded and turned toward the thick wall of pines. you kept your eyes on the shadows of the tree line, your ears straining for the sound of snapping twigs or the wet, dragging footsteps of the dead. behind you, you heard the rough canvas of his duffel bag rustling, the thud of his boots against the dirt, and the frantic, shallow rhythm of his breathing. he was working too fast, his usual meticulous tracking discipline shot to hell by the sheer proximity of your body.
"alright," he grunted after a few minutes, the leather of his vest creaking as he stepped up behind you. "move out. stay on my heel."
he bypassed the main road entirely, cutting through a rusted section of chain-link fence behind the small-town pharmacy. the glass on the back door was intact but caked in decades of grime, looking dark and ominous. daryl didn't hesitate. he jammed the blade of his hunting knife into the old lock mechanism, giving it a fierce, sharp twist until the ancient brass gave way with a loud, echoing crack that made you both freeze.
he waited, counting the seconds in the dead silence, before pushing the door open and slipping inside.
the air inside the pharmacy was cool, smelling of damp paper, old dust, and stale plastic. it was a small independent clinic, the shelves half-ransacked but mostly intact. daryl moved with his usual lethal efficiency, clearing the two short aisles with his knife drawn, his boots making no sound on the linoleum. once he satisfied himself that the place was empty, he sheathed his knife and ripped the list from his pocket, his eyes scanning the crumpled paper with a fierce, almost frantic focusâanything to keep from looking at you.
"start on that side," he grunted, nodding toward the shelves labeled ailments & pain relief. "look for the amoxicillin. anything in a sealed bottle."
you nodded, stepping into the narrow aisle. the space was incredibly tight. when daryl moved past you to check the back counter, his broad shoulder brushed against yours, a sharp, deliberate friction that sent a spike of heat straight down your spine. you both froze for a fraction of a second, the air between you turning thick and heavy, before he ripped himself away, his boots scuffing hard against the floor.
you tried to focus on the bottles, your fingers trembling slightly as you moved them aside, but your eyes kept tracking him. he was tossing bottles into his duffel bag with too much force, his breathing shallow and loud in the quiet store.
then, you saw him stop dead in front of a small, rotating display right next to the pharmacy register.
through the dusty plastic dividers, the bold lettering of the condom boxes practically screamed in the dim light. daryl stared at them. his entire back went dead silent, his broad shoulders locking up. from behind, you watched the tips of his ears turn a deep, furious crimson.
he stood there for five agonizing seconds, his head bowed, fighting a war with himself. with a sudden, sharp jerk, he reached out, his thick, grease-stained fingers wrapping around a couple of boxes. he didn't look at the labels, didn't check the sizesâhe just snatched them off the hooks and shoved them deep into the bottom of his duffel bag, throwing a handful of gauze rolls over them to bury them out of sight.
he let out a sharp, shallow breath, his jaw working as he spun around, finally catching you watching him. his dark eyes flared with a wild, cornered heat, his chest heaving under his vest.
"got what we need," he snapped, his voice dropping into a harsh, warning whisper that cut through the aisle. "let's go. now."
the short ride from the pharmacy to the abandoned house was a blur of raw nerves. by the time you reached the house, the woods had darkened into late evening gold.
daryl was a total mess on the bike. he took the turns too hard, his boots skimming the dirt as he navigated the final stretch of the old trail. his mind was spinning. the memory of what he had done in that dark hallway just twenty-four hours priorâthe rough way he had gripped himself, the noises heâd made while panting into the dustâwas flashing behind his eyelids in agonizing detail. his skin felt like it was on fire under his leather vest.
more than that, a deep, clawing anxiety was eating at his stomach. what if you hated the house? what if you thought he was crazy for dragging you out here? he was a tracker, a redneck drift-away who slept on dirt and lived off grease; he didn't know anything about romance or what a woman like you wanted. the thought that he might look foolish, or worse, that his clumsy attempt at giving you something nice would make you pull away, had his heart hammering against his ribs.
when the motorcycle finally idled down in the overgrown driveway of the secluded craftsman home, daryl killed the ignition and sat dead still. his hands were shaking so badly he had to keep them balled into fists against the handlebars.
"it's... it's up here," he muttered, his voice a low, strained rasp. he got off the bike, grabbing the duffel bag, keeping his eyes locked on the porch steps, his broad back rigid as he led the way inside.
the front door creaked open, and the preserved silence of the house swallowed you both. the air smelled of decay mixed with old cedar, candle smoke, and a faint hint of mildew. daryl walked down the narrow corridor, his eyes deliberately avoiding the dark hallway where heâd lost his mind the day before, though his neck flushed a deep, telltale red as he passed it. he pushed open the bedroom door and stepped aside, his breath catching in his throat as he waited for your reaction.
you stepped into the room, and the breath left your lungs. the setting sun filtered softly through the delicate, dusty lace curtains draped over the antler mount on the wall. dust motes danced in the shafts of light, disturbed by your movement. the deep mahogany of the bed and dresser set looked rich and dark in the dim light, the faded lace doilies and clusters of burnt candles giving the space a holy, untouched atmosphere. a few faded family photos sat on the mantle, turned face down. it was beautiful. it was safe.
you let out a soft, breathless sound of absolute wonder, walking over to the bed, your hand reaching out to trace the smooth, dark wood of the footboard before you sat down on the edge of the mattress. "itâs... itâs perfect. you found this for me?"
hearing the genuine sweetness in your voice, the sheer relief that washed over daryl was so physical his shoulders dropped. he let out a long, shuddering breath, his head shaking slightly as he tried to process that he hadnât screwed it up, setting the duffel bag down with a thud.
"yeah," he muttered, his voice thick and rough. "thought... thought you'd like it."
to cover the overwhelming wave of vulnerability crashing over him, daryl immediately reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. his hands were still trembling slightly as he struck his plastic lighter, the small flame illuminating the sharp, nervous angles of his face. he took a deep, dragging pull, the blue smoke curling around his messy fringe as he leaned his hip against the heavy mahogany dresser.
before dropping the lighter, he kept the flame sparked. with a tense energy, he moved across the room, using that exact same lighter to bring the room to life. one by one, he touched the flame to the clusters of candles gathered on the dresser, watching the small wicks catch and cast a warm glow, candle wax dripping softly onto the old wood. then he stepped over to the nightstand, leaning down to light the remaining candles there. the small, golden flames flickered into existence, bathing the dark wood in warm light and illuminating the soft curve of your throat. he blew out a stream of smoke, his dark eyes locking onto yours through the haze as he finally snapped the lighter shut and set it down.
as you sat on the edge of the mattress, your eyes drifted to the dresser drawers. poking out from the top seam of the dark wood was a sliver of white fabric. curiosity pulling at you, you stood up and walked over, sliding the drawer open. an old perfume smell, trapped in the drawer for years, wafted out as your fingers pulled out a vintage, white lace nightgown. it was delicate, completely sheer, and beautifully preserved.
you looked up at him, a sudden spark of courage cutting through your nerves. "i'm going to wash up," you murmured, holding the lace against your chest. "and put this on."
daryl choked on his smoke, coughing as his eyes locked onto the fabric in your hands, his face turning an instant, burning crimson again. he couldn't even form a coherent word, merely nodding as he shoved his hands deep into his pockets.
he cleared his throat, looking away. "iâm gonâ clear the rest of the house."
in the small, adjoining bathroom, you used a clean rag and a basin of water to wash the grime of the road from your skin. you could tell daryl had already done the exact same thing before he brought you here. slipping the nightgown over your head, the sheer material fell softly against your skin, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.
the room went humid with tension. you stood in front of the large mirror attached to the mahogany dresser, the candles daryl had just lit casting a warm, golden glow across your skin and illuminating your reflection. the sheer fabric showed every curve of your body, the tight, dark peaks of your nipples clearly visible beneath the lace.
a floorboard creaked behind you. daryl had approached silently, but the sight of you in the mirror made him stop dead. his chest rose and fell in deep, uneven cycles.
he didn't have his cigarette in his mouth anymore; he had set it smoldering on a porcelain dish to keep his face completely free for you. slowly, he closed the distance until he was towering right behind you, his heat enveloping your bare shoulders. he looked at your reflection, his dark eyes wide and consumed. he reached up, his rough hands coming down to rest on your waist. his thumbs dragged against your hip bones, his fingers trembling under the weight of his own conscience. his skin still smelled faintly of gasoline and grease, even after washing.
"ain't right..." he trailed off, his voice dropping into a register so low and gravelly it vibrated straight through your skin. he stared at your reflection, his jaw tight. "wantin ya. shouldn't be thinkin' 'bout you like this."
you turned your head slightly, looking back at him through the glass, a sudden, fierce certainty anchoring your voice. "why? i know what i want."
daryl let out a sharp, ragged hitch of a breath. his large hands instantly gripped tighter on your hips, pulling your lower body back against his denim-clad thighs with possessive suddenness.
"and what i want is you," you added softly, your eyes locked onto his in the mirror.
his grip remained solid, anchoring you to his chest, but the finality of your words seemed to throw him completely off-balance. his breathing was shallow and hot against your neck as he leaned down, his forehead dropping against your bare shoulder blade for a split second.
his jaw flexed, his eyes darting away before he rasped out, "gonâ be clumsy."
his bare lips finally found your skin, beginning to pepper slow, sharp kisses along your jawline.
"itâs okay," you whimpered back, your eyes closing as his lips pressed into your neck.
hearing your shaky, nervous confirmation seemed to snap the last thread of his restraint. daryl let out a low, defeated growl, reaching for his clothes with a frustrated, impatient urgency. first, he yanked his leather vest down with a rough jerk, shrugging it off his shoulders and tossing it to the floorboards. next, he grabbed the hem of his sleeveless shirt, pulling it over his head in one swift, sharp motion, his messy fringe catching briefly on the collar before falling wildly into his eyes. the shifting candlelight caught the pale, heavily scarred skin of his back and the corded muscle of his torso. he was completely shirtless, his chest heaving, but he still had his heavy denim pants and boots on.
he turned you around, his grip moving from your hips to your waist, and effortlessly lifted you onto the high mattress. the old wood groaned and the bedframe tapped softly against the wall under his weight as he climbed up after you, his movements driven by a frantic desperation to touch you everywhere at once.
shifting his weight, daryl pressed his clothed knee right up against your core, the rugged denim of his jeans creating a blunt, grounding pressure against your panties through the sheer fabric of the nightgown. the solid weight of his knee anchored you to the mattress, and he immediately leaned down, burying his face in the crook of your neck. his mouth was wet and completely uncoordinated as he began to leave frantic kisses along your collarbone and up to your jawline, his rough chin scratching your soft skin. at the same time, his thick, grease-stained hands came up to your chest. his thumbs began to lightly circle your nipples over the thin white lace of the nightgown, the friction making the peaks harden instantly beneath his palms.
the pressure of his denim-clad knee against your core was overwhelming. instinctively, your hips tilted upward, and you began grinding against his leg, seeking relief from the agonizing ache building between your thighs.
the moment your body began grinding against his leg, it absolutely killed him. daryl let out a sharp, broken groan, his whole body locked, hips jerking involuntarily. he stopped dead, burying his face hard in your shoulder as he fiercely fought his own anatomy. he was breathing like heâd been hunted, his chest heaving against yours.
he paused, he went rigid for a second. a sudden look of severe self-consciousness flashed across his face, his eyes searching yours with a raw, panicked vulnerability. he misread your breathlessness, assuming he had overstepped or hurt you.
"i... i'm sorry," he choked out, his voice a ruined scrape into your skin as he started to pull back. "pushed too hard. i didn't mean toâ"
"daryl, no," you interrupted, reaching up to clasp his face, pulling him back down. "you didn't. don't stop."
relief washed over his features, though his jaw remained tight. "damn it," he gasped, his forehead resting against yours for a brief second. "hold up... just hold up. i ain't..."
knowing he was right on the brink and wanting to make it good for you first, daryl forced himself to shift down. he lowered himself down the mattress, his hands sliding down your thighs to gently pull the sheer lace nightgown up, bunching the white fabric around your waist. he leaned down, pressing a string of kisses down the center of your tummy, his breathing hot and shallow against your skin.
he moved lower until his lips reached the damp cotton of your panties. resting his jaw heavily against your inner thigh, he paused, his dark eyes looking up at you through his messy fringe, wide and completely intense in the candlelight.
"gotta tell me if it's right," he rasped, his voice dropping into a low, rough growl that shook with raw nerves. "if it hurts. any of it. don't go hidin' it from me."
you nodded breathlessly, your fingers clutching the old quilt beneath you.
daryl didn't waste another second. he hooked his thick fingers into the elastic of your panties, sliding them down your legs and tossing them onto the floorboards before parting your knees wide. he slid down between your thighs, his denim pants frictioning against your skin while his boots remained securely on, dangling off the foot of the bed. he buried his face directly between your legs.
"youâre soppinâ," he growled, the unfiltered observation slipping out of him before he ate you out with a fierce hunger. his tongue lapped at you with a messy desperation before finding a steady, relentless rhythm against your sweet spot. his hands dug hard into your hips, anchoring your lower body to his mouth as he worked.
he didn't rush it.
"good?" he choked out, the word muffled and breathless against your clit.
"so good," you cried out, your hands shooting directly into his messy hair, holding him close.
he stayed down there for minutes on end, entirely focused on the way your body responded to him. he listened to the gradual shift in your breathing, waiting out the slow, steady build of heat and moisture as your body climbed. he tracked every tiny twitch of your thighs, keeping a constant, wet pressure on your core until the tension in your hips became completely coiled. he didn't stop until your breath caught in a high, sobbing gasp and your body began to shake, your core throwing off a wave of intense heat as you finally broke, finishing completely against his mouth.
daryl drank in your high, shattering release, his jaw slick with you as he finally slid back up your body. his chest was heaving, his dark eyes completely pitch-black as he hovered over your trembling form.
his hands were shaking so badly he could barely control them. he leaned over the edge of the high mattress, practically diving into the canvas duffel bag resting on the floor. his large hands frantically fumbled through the supply of medical gear, knocking pill bottles and gauze rolls aside as he desperately rummaged through the dark bottom of the bag to find the boxes of condoms he had snatched from the pharmacy. he pulled one out, squinting hard at the tiny lettering on the box in the dim, flickering candlelight, his brow furrowing with a severe, almost comical intensity as he tried to figure out what the hell it said.
watching his fiercely focused expression over something so domestic, a soft, involuntary giggle bubbled up from your chest, breaking the heavy tension in the room.
darylâs head snapped up. a deep flush bloomed across his cheeks and rushed down his neck. a rare, genuinely light smile tugged at the corner of his lips, softening the hard, gritty lines of his face in a way you'd almost never seen.
"quit," he muttered, his voice a quiet, embarrassed huff as he shook his head and looked your way, tossing the box aside into the blanket to grab a loose wrapper instead.
still kneeling over you with his boots dangling off the mattress, he reached down to his waist. he didn't take his jeans off entirelyâhe just popped the metal button, his belt buckle catching briefly on the quilt with a dull metallic clink as he violently jerked the heavy denim and his underwear down past his hips, keeping them bunched around his upper thighs so he wouldn't have to deal with kicking his heavy boots off. he tore open the foil wrapper with his teeth, his jaw tight and a lingering, fond warmth creeping up his neck as he fumbled to unroll the protection over his length, his breath hitching in a harsh rattle of pure concentration.
when he settled back between your legs, the weight of his heat pressing against your core, he paused one last time.
"get your legs 'round me," he commanded softly, the gravel in his voice dropping into a deep, possessive register. "hold on."
you instinctively brought your knees up, wrapping your thighs tightly around his thick waist. he let out a broken, tortured sound at the contact, his forehead dropping against your neck as he slowly, deliberately pushed himself inside you.
as he drove in deep, his large, heavy palm flattened right back over your lower tummy. he pushed down firmly against your stomach, anchoring your hips to the high mattress with a dominant pressure that forced you to feel the absolute fullness of him inside you. the hard, grounding weight of his hand against your abdomen sent an electric spike of pleasure straight to your core, making you gasp loudly against his shoulder.
the sudden, stretching fullness made your body stiffen under his weight. he forced himself into slower strokes for a minute, jaw tight with concentration, his frame tightened like iron, his hand still pressing firmly against your tummy. "hurt ya?" he choked out.
"no, no," you breathed, your hips making a small, upward adjustment against his palm to welcome him deeper. "don't stop. just stay still for a second."
he listened, suppressing every primal instinct inside him just to give your body time to adjust. only when you began to move against him in a slow, inviting rhythm, did he allow his hips to shift, beginning a deep, agonizingly deliberate pace, his palm keeping a steady pressure on your stomach with every stroke.
the friction built to a shattering crescendo. "fuck... please," you sobbed out, your head rolling back against the pillow as the wave of your release began to crest.
suddenly, a sharp, distinct *creak* echoed from the floorboards directly down the narrow corridor outside the bedroom. it wasn't an aimless scrape. it was a heavy shifting of weight inside the house.
daryl froze instantly, buried deep inside you. the weight of his body turned to solid stone, his chest completely still as he held his breath.
his head snapped toward the open bedroom door. before a panicked gasp could escape your wet lips, his large, rough palm collapsed firmly over your mouth, sealing it completely.
his other arm wrapped like a steel band around your waist, pinning your lower body flush against his hard hips, anchoring you so deeply beneath him that you couldn't move an inch.
"shut up," he breathed against the crown of your head.
the dynamic was instant, unexpected, and entirely intoxicating. the sheer force of his hand pressing you flat into the mattress while he remained buried inside you sent an electric shock straight to your system. blind panic and scorching arousal fused together.
desperate for an anchor, your hand flew upward, your fingers raking blindly against the dark mahogany headboard. your hand vanished against the wood, your fingers clamping tightly around a heavy wooden rosary that had been wrapped around one of the bedposts. you pulled on it with a wild, trembling force.
the old twine snapped.
the silence shattered as dozens of wooden beads spilled free, bouncing and rattling across the hardwood floorboards like a handful of gravel.
darylâs eyes flared with a wild, dangerous heat. his grip on your mouth tightened, his jaw stone-rigid as he stared out into the pitch-black hallway, his ears straining so hard for any reaction to the noise that the veins on his neck were bulging. he held his lower body completely still inside yours, ensuring the old mattress springs didn't make a single peep.
beneath his heavy palm, your breath hitched sharply. the absolute vulnerability of the moment made your pulse race. your lips parted slightly against the calloused meat of his hand, tasting the faint salt of his skin, your hips hitching up involuntarily against his frozen length in a desperate, silent plea for him to move faster.
he felt the tight, twitching squeeze of your body around him. his eyes cracked down to yours, catching the wide, eager dark of your pupils. a sudden heat flared in his own chest. he didn't pull out; instead, he subtly leaned his hips harder into yours, a silent warning to stay still that only made the ache between your legs flare hotter.
another long silence stretched through the house.
a small, frantic scratching sound echoed from the kitchen down the hall, followed by the tiny thud of a raccoon dropping from a broken window pane.
a long, slow, chest-heaving breath finally escaped his lungs. the rigid, lethal tension in his shoulders eased. slowly, tentatively, his fingers slid away from your mouth. his rough thumb lingered on your lower lip, dragging across the wetness left by your breath, pressing down just hard enough to make you whimper in the quiet room.
his jaw flexed as he looked down at you, the dark heat in his eyes tightening. "told ya to stay quiet."
"no," you gasped out, your voice trembling as you arched up against his leg. "i need it. daryl, please."
his jaw flexed hard. âdamn right,â he growled, the praise low, rough, and thick with his heavy accent.
he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his movements becoming rough, hurried, and fueled by a desperation he could no longer contain. he drove into you with a fierce, frantic urgency, his heavy denim bunched around his thighs as he anchored himself to you, his large hand pressing down hard against your tummy to drive himself as deep as possible. he hit your sweet spot again and again, his strokes heavy and relentless until you sobbed aloud against his neck, your body scrambling as the release finally broke over you. seeing the complete surrender in your eyes, he let out a broken, ruined sound as he came, the intense release racking his shoulders, his hips stuttering forward against yours as he spilled himself completely into the protection, holding you so tight against his chest you could barely draw a breath.
the silence of the room returned slowly, filled only by the frantic, synchronized rhythm of your heavy breathing and the quiet ticking of the candles on the nightstand. he didn't roll away immediately. he lay buried in your shoulder, his heart thumping hard against your ribs, his large hands still securely locked around your waist.
after a long, quiet moment, he carefully withdrew and disposed of the protection, finally working his clothes back up over his hips and buttoning them. before settling back down, he stood up on trembling legs, walking quietly to the window to peer through a slit in the lace curtains, scanning the overgrown yard one more time to ensure your safety.
satisfied, he returned to the bed and slid onto his side on the mattress, keeping you pulled securely against his chest. he reached down, pulling the dusty, faded quilt up over both of your flushed bodies, shielding you from the cooling air of the room, and reached out to adjust the pillow beneath your head.
his fingers gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear. his dark eyes, soft now, finally clear of the anxiety that had tortured him all day, searched yours in the fading candlelight. he shifted closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his rough, unshaven chin scraping lightly against your skin as he let his whole weight settle into your side. his thumb moved slow against your hip beneath the blanket while the old mattress creaked softly beneath the both of you. outside, the world still groaned and clawed at the fences, but in that small room, with his heartbeat steady against your chest, daryl was at peace.
