parings: Mermaid, ghost, vampire, wives x female reader.
warnings: jealousy, fingers, oral, angst, rough sex, blood, possessive behavior death, loss/ mourning(ghost wife) , mental health, haunting, dubcon for ghost wife. denial, kinda sub reader, porn WITH plot.
A/N: Tumblrs twitter post made me feel so disappointed, y’all.
When your monster wife gets jealous, you’re the only one who can calm her down.
MERMAID WIFE
You and your wife grew up in entirely different environments. While you were able to swim underwater and breathe thanks to her limited magic, she however didn’t have the power to transform into a human with legs or join you in many activities on land, but she still tried her best to support you from afar. You spent most of your time at the beach with her. Always near the shore where no one else came to. It was rocky and the waters were overall dangerous and rough. When you were gathering supplies or took a break from the underwater depths to resurface on land, you always brought back cute knickknacks and foods for your curious wife. She’s always been intrigued by human cuisines, always asking you about what foods you ate as a child, or what humans did for fun.
You felt really bad that she couldn’t join you to the local shops and restaurants on the beach pier, so one day when the two of you are cuddling in your underwater cave at night, you promise her you’ll set up a picnic date the next morning. To your excitement she almost instantly agrees. You’re already on land by morning time, fuzzy eyes opening from sleep as your wife pokes and kisses your cheeks. It was about 6 am, you could tell since the sun was still barely rising over the horizon. It was the perfect time to start preparing for your little picnic. You two talk some more, planning what you both would eat before you head into town.
You go to your home to get a cooler and some blankets tucked away in the garage, and then head out to the small local shops that were just starting to crowd up. You still worked a job in the city, so thankfully you had a good amount of money leftover after paying your bills
It took you a while to get the food since there was a line of people at the grocery store, but you managed to snag a couple of treats that your wife liked and some sandwiches. You put your receipts, food and drinks in the cooler, making your way back to the beach. Since it was still early morning and people were out grocery shopping, there weren’t too many people on the beach except a select few couples and lifeguards. You hurry your way the best you can through the sand, but sadly the amount of grocery bags in your hand we’re weighing you down. You really wanted to make this date special, but maybe you went a bit overboard with the shopping.
You were close to the rocks that cut off people’s visions from the empty side of the beach, but unfortunately for you, you trip on a tiny rock you overlooked. Your bags fell to the ground, thankfully everything inside was still fully salvageable. You go to pick them up, sighing in annoyance about how clumsy you were, but a slim hand from behind you already beat you to it.
“ You look like you could use some help.”
A kind woman in a lifeguard uniform smiles at you, her eyes crinkling as she picks up the rest of your bags on the ground, patting away the excess sand with a small shake.
“You’re heading into a dangerous area, ma’am. Are you new to the area?” The woman meets your eyes, her lips still stuck in a polite smile. “Many locals normally avoid this area because of the rocks. Would you like me to lead you back to the main beach? I can definitely show you around the area if you’d like.”
“For someone as pretty as yourself, I’d hate it if something happened to you. I’m glad I stumbled upon you before you went any further.”
An awkward smile grazes over your mouth.. the obvious flirting was almost too much to bear. You had never been caught sneaking off before, so why'd it have to happen today of all days? Maybe because you were carrying a shopping spree of groceries and a cooler like an idiot.. “Oh, yes, thank you. I must have taken the wrong path. I’d love some help.”
You play along, letting the lifeguard help you pull your cooler back to the main beach as she talks about the local life in this small city you were all too familiar with. You let her lead you just a bit further from the rocks before you stop. “I’ll stay here, thank you for helping me.” You politely bow your head, noticing the disappointment etched on the woman’s face.
“You’ll visit the beach again, won’t you?” She asks, “I work a bit further down. It’d be nice to see you again.”
After politely talking to the lifeguard, she leaves to go back to her post. Once you see her leave your field of vision you run away back to the rocks, crawling over them and hauling your cooler rather quickly alongside you. You take the short walk to edge of the beach where your wife normally waits for you. It was long past the time you said you’d come back. Hopefully the food didn’t grow stale.
“I’m back,” you cheerfully sing your wife’s name, approaching her as she sits on the sand underneath a cluster of trees. Her back is facing you, arms crossed and her long tail swaying impatiently back and forth in the water. Her normally stiff scales on her shoulders flared out. Maybe she was upset you took so long. “Hi, baby.” You softly speak, sitting beside her and lightly hugging around her waist. You try to cuddle her, but pull away when you feel her stiffen. You look up at her and gasp, her normally yellow eyes were now dimmer, a lot darker and more intense, and her sharp teeth flared out, biting into her bottom lip. She looked beyond annoyed.
“What’s wrong? What happened?” You’re quick to try and comfort her, giving her some space as you try to get her to look at you.
A quiet growl escapes her lips as she rapidly turns to you, pinning your body underneath her on the sand. “You must have had fun with that human, didn’t you, wife?” Her breathing was slow, calm and collected, her eyes sharp enough to slice right through you. She bares her teeth, growling defensively when you try to sit up.
“What are you talking about?” You return her glare back at her, something she definitely didn’t take too kindly.
“The human woman, don’t play dumb with me.”
“I can smell her scent all over you. Do you think I couldn’t hear your little conversation?”
You roll your eyes, and your wife clicks her tongue, grabbing your hips to drag you closer to the edge of the shore.
“She was only helping me pick up my groceries.”
“She was flirting with you.”
“She was only trying to help, she didn’t know.”
Your wife hisses in annoyance, dragging the both of you underneath the calm ocean waters, abandoning the cooler of food on the rocks. Your wife wastes no time tearing through your swim suit, ripping a clean line down the middle with her sharp nails as her mouth presses into yours roughly. Her tongue is skillful, already overpowering your tongue as it lingers near your throat. Her sharp teeth pinch and nibble at your bottom lip before she pulls away.
“Must I mark your body? Give you a little scar? Let everyone know you’re taken? ” She sounded frustrated as she swam down, pinning you to the soft sand on the sea floor. “I know I don't have the ability to go with you on land, I get that. But it haunts me thinking you will replace me one day. Don’t you understand that?”
You soften, reaching out your hand to her cheek for her to nuzzle into. “You don’t have to worry about me leaving you, ever.”
“Don’t you understand that I can’t love anyone as much as I love you?”
You feel her relax in your hold, a flash of an apologetic expression on her face.
“Still,” she whispered, clawing into your waist to pull you closer. “I should make an effort to protect you the best I can, should I not?” she licks the shell of your ear before cooing lovingly into your shoulder “I’ll make sure no one gives you trouble. If I see you cover up my mark I’ll just simply have to add more..”
She bites into your soft flesh, licking around your skin when you cry out to ebb the pain. She’s always gentle when it comes down to her teeth, but in order to mark you she needed to be a bit rougher.
“Shh, it’s ok.” She’s sucking under your chin now, licking and slurping until she comes back in contact with your mouth, pressing you into the sand as she does as she pleases.
The black tentacles hidden away on her back shoot out, each one wrapping around your limbs holding you still, you let out a soft whimper when you feel one slipping between your puffy folds, stroking your clit with small circles.
“There’s my good girl, so perfect for me.”
“I’ll reward you soon enough.”
And she does, the smaller black tentacle is joined with one of her longer ones, it pushes near your entrance, teasing and lubricating the opening with a sticky goo. It pushes inside you with a sharp thrust, splitting your pussy open to your wife’s amusement.
“You’re doing so well.”
The small tentacle on your clit rubs soothing circles, causing you to whine and writhe around in the sand. The tentacle inside you eases its way inside, thick girth unforgiving and long. It curves, slipping in and out your pussy so it can rub around that delicious spot inside you that makes you scream. You struggle, naturally trying to close your legs because it was almost too much to bear, but your wife lets out a warning growl.
“Let me show you how much pleasure I can give you, wife.”
Another tentacle playfully circles around your entrance before pushing in with the other. The sensation of two of them deep in your cunt already makes you want to cum from the feeling alone.
“Can’t—“ you pant out, “I’m gonna cum..”
“Go ahead,” she smiles, rubbing that smaller tentacle over your bundle of nerves slower to draw out your orgasm as you cum around them, clenching them so tightly in your hold.
After you cum your wife swims the two of you back to the surface, holding your limp body delicately as she lays you on the sand.
Thankfully all the food was still well and fresh to enjoy your date. Once you finish you plan on letting your wife know how much you truly love and appreciate her.
GHOST WIFE
Before the two of you could go on a proper honeymoon, your gentle wife ended up dying in a fatal car crash on her way back home. Your five year relationship closed with a horrific ending you never imagined coming in a million years. To say you were locked in your house for weeks was a kind statement. Even after you re-entered back into society you couldn’t stop yourself from feeling dreadfully alone, still trapped inside your mind with racing thoughts of what happened weeks ago. The house the two of you once shared was empty and full all at the same time. You didn’t change anything, you didn’t dare. All her belongings were still tucked exactly where she left them when she died. Each time you came back home, the door chimed with the set of bells she left on the knob. She said it was a decorative choice, a piece you’ve now come to love and appreciate more after her passing. Yet the sound makes you feel more eager to see her greet you like old times, but you knew it’d never happen.
You wish you told her how much you appreciated her.
You really loved her.
Months felt like days, and days felt like seconds, but after six years of getting back on your feet you were somewhat more confident to move out of your old house that you shared with your wife. Your friends believed it’d be best if you didn’t stay in a place where painful memories were. And maybe they were right, you didn’t know. Maybe it was for the best. You took a few boxes, returned some of her valuables to her family despite your hesitation. Of course you still carried a few things of hers with you. Your ring for example, you’ve never taken it off since the day she put it on your finger at your wedding. It still sat nice and snug around you.
Moving in was simple after selling your old house. This new home would be a place to start clearing your head. Although, you knew you’d never have the grace to actually forget about the past.
You started working at a new location after you left your hometown. The atmosphere was tense since you were such a newbie, and the question if you were married was always an awkward topic when coworkers caught a glance at your worn out wedding ring wrapped around your finger. You couldn’t blame them for asking though.
Everything was going fine for the first few months. You didn’t know anyone personally, but you were starting to grow friendly enough with your coworkers where they’d invite you out to eat after work. You were doing ok. As ok as you could be. It wasn’t perfect, but you were becoming a bit more comfortable in this new city.
It wasn’t until one night after heading home from a bar you started to experience strange things in your home. When you were laying in bed at night most times, the lights in the hall would flicker on. Other days, you’d hear footsteps in your living room. Yet there wasn’t anyone there. You’ve asked police countless times to strip your home with a thorough search, but each result comes back the same. Nothing.
You started to notice there was a pattern. These instances weren’t frequent, you’ve noticed they only occurred when your older coworker at your job talks to you. Most days at the office were quiet and calming. When you’re alone or with friends you come home to a silent house, but whenever you’re approached by this strange coworker you’re always looking around dark corners in your home like someone will pop out eventually. Maybe he has something to do with all of these weird occurrences?
Maybe he followed you..
You test out your theory by approaching him first, a surprising first time occurrence that didn’t go unnoticed by him. He’s kind, a bit more flirty than usual today. Maybe you approaching him gave him the confidence to be a bit more bold. When you get back to your house later that night you’re expecting to be bombarded. It’s dark, and even when you turn the lights on it’s eerily quiet. You wait for a few hours, but there’s nothing there, no footsteps or flickering lights to be seen or heard. You felt more comfortable getting in the shower for the night. You strip down after searching through your house one last time, locking the door behind you just in case before stepping into the warm flowing water.
It was calming, as calm as you felt in days. You scrub your body, humming a soft tune as you try and concentrate on the timid drops of water coating your skin. It was going well, so, so well before you finally hear it.
It was almost instant. Harsh breathing on your neck felt like a cold glacier, and the feeling of a body weighed on yours that pushed you to a wall felt so cold to the touch that you couldn’t help but shiver. But when you whipped your head over your quivering shoulder you saw absolutely no one there.
“I won’t let him have you.”
A gentle whisper near your ear hit you like a rushing train. You had too many feelings of shock and disbelief welling up. You thought you had long forgotten the sound of your wife’s voice by now, but the weary voice whispering in your ear felt all too familiar. Yet, you still felt so terrified.
“You’re mine.”
“Who are you?” You shiver, voice on the edge of cracking.
A gush of wind flows over your body as invisible hands rub and grope your wet breast “I’ll kill him before I let him have you.” The voice sounded tired as it wailed into your shoulder. “You’re mine.” Chilled fingers pinch your now pebbled nipples, the haunting voice behind you now sighing in delight as it watches your knees buckle. It was almost like your pleasure came naturally to the spirit “You are…”
A cold finger rubs against your stomach, trailing its way down between your thighs to your warmth, pressing to your bundle of nerves gently before rubbing tight circles.
“A-Ah—“ you let out a sharp breath, mind clouded as the icy finger rubbing your clit worked you out. It’s slow, rubbing circles everywhere over your poor bud. Up, under, on the sides, like it desperately needed to feel your clit pulsing on the pad of its finger.
You buckle to the wall when the unforgiving fingers pinch your clit, invisible chest giving you some stability so you don’t fall. “You still feel the same.” The spirit leans into you, mouth parting before connecting to your lips. You couldn’t see it, but you try reaching your trembling hand for it to grab regardless, thankful when you feel cold digits intertwine with yours.
The long slender finger circling your bud grew tighter, faster, if you could collapse right now you would, but the strong invisible body holding you up wouldn’t allow you. You felt like you’d cum any second now with how rough it was being.
After pinching your clit again you gush, cum trickling down your pulsing hole to your shaky thighs.
“All this time I only watched, waited.”
You’re roughly flipped over so your backs to the shower wall, now face to face with the frightening translucent figure of your undead wife. Her face was still the same, eyes still lazy and droopy when she was alive, but her skin was covered head to toe in blood, and her irises were a fuzzy white. “I won’t let you go that easily.”
“I won’t let you go at all,” She growls.
Before you could speak she’s back on you, chapped lips covering your mouth to trap your frightened breath. Her tongue tasted like nothing, it only felt cold as it twisted around yours before slipping down your throat. It felt rough, and almost painful. But you leaned into her despite all that. She was still your wife after all (hopefully). Her long tongue invaded your throat, pushing back and forth. The chill felt too strong for you to continue. You gasp, pulling away from her with short pants.
“Shh, shh. I’m here now, don’t worry. I’ll keep my promise of taking care of you.”
“You must have felt lonely,” she rubs a stray tear that leaves your eye. When did you even start crying? “I’ve felt lonely too.”
She leans into you, long slender fingers parting your wet folds before nestling inside your trembling pussy. “You won’t be alone ever again.” Her fingers are bony, hard, and as expected, very cold. She glides them in and out your gaping pussy, and it’s almost like she knew how to please you like it was in her nature. Like it came naturally even though it’s been years since she had the chance to even touch you.
“A-Ah— please. I—“ you grip on her shoulders, mouth agape as you beg for her to do..something. You weren’t even sure what you wanted yourself, but she complied. “You want more? Greedy little thing...” Her free hand that was gripping your hip lowered between your legs to your clit, rubbing and pinching at it while her fingers that were deep in your cunt curled.
“Mh— nhh.”
“You look beautiful like this. I won’t let anyone else have you.” Fuzzy white spots over your vision as you cum, squirting around her fingers, but she doesn’t stop. She’s been waiting years for the ring on your finger to finally work its magic and revive her spirit, but since it only allowed her to be seen as a ghost that’ll do for now. As long as she gets to touch you like this again.
She has her fill with you that night, making you cum all over her fingers and thigh until you pass out in the shower, and when you wake up? You’re already back in bed, covers draped over your sore naked body. You think it’s just a dream, maybe you got too carried away last night thinking about your late wife, so you go to work to try and take your mind off things.
It’s another slow day, painfully slow. You had nothing to distract you from the thoughts of last night racing in your head. It was starting to feel blurry and unclear. You go for lunch, sitting alone at one of the cafeteria tables when your flirtatious coworker sneaks his way behind you.
“You look tired.”
You jump in your chair before relaxing when you notice who it was. “Sorry,” you smile apologetically. “I just have a lot on my mind.”
You chat for a bit, normal, casual small talk. You actually think you almost forgot about last night for a minute while talking for a hot second. But of course, he had to go away. His work wasn’t going to get done on its own after all. You wave goodbye, smiling awkwardly as you shift back to your lonely seat in the far corner of the busy cafeteria. You were about to open your lunch before you smack your hand onto your bottom lip in shock.
Two familiar long bony fingers curled inside your folds, the feeling icy and painfully slow. You yelp, but a pair of dry lips are there to keep you silent once more.
“I told you that you’re mine..maybe I should fuck you in front of him next time..”
From then on, each time your coworker approached you, you turned the opposite direction. The thought of your wife making you cum in public made you look mad to anyone walking by. Hopefully to them it looked like you had a fever.
If you were caught slipping though, and accidentally bumped into your coworker your wife wouldn’t let you know peace. Sometimes when you think you’re safe from her jealousy you’ll be awoken in the middle of the night to a frozen tongue licking and slurping around your small clit before pushing inside your needy hole. She can make you cum for hours just to prove her point.
VAMPIRE WIFE
Your wife was gracious enough to let you keep your humanity. Knowing what happens mid transition to the newer age of vampires, she never wanted you to crave blood lust. Not like she had centuries ago. She was an older vampire, much more emotionally mature to grow past that insane hunger. Fresh human blood was nice, yes, but a lingering part of her humanity went against hunting weaker prey just to satisfy her own taste buds. Once a human gets bit, and if they’re still alive of course, the whole process of turning could be quite painful..She did not want you to suffer such a tortuous experience feeling your life drain away from you.
But you begged, relentlessly. The thoughts of dying without her left you waking up in the middle of the night clinging to her side, gripping her wrist with a trembling hand just to feel she was there with you. So, how could she not comply?
Once she finally helped you to transform, you laid in bed for weeks, too afraid to act on the spinning impulsive thoughts in your head begging you to hunt. But your instincts gave in, naturally. Late one night you just couldn’t take it anymore. Your skin was pulsing despite not being alive, and your head was pumping with thoughts you’d never think when you were human. You had climbed out of your shared bed with your wife, sneaking off into the halls of the large castle you both resided in. You knew there were humans here, you could smell them, you knew there were volunteers who bravely took the chance to be bitten by a hungry, bored or “generous” vampire of the court for a chance at immortality. That’s why your wife never allowed you to set foot in the other part of a castle as a mere human. You’d probably be killed or turned immediately. Most humans who willingly sacrificed themselves would end up similar to the last poor soul who came to the castle looking for immortality. Dead, sucked dry and buried in a pile of forgotten bodies.
You search through the garden vigorously, any sign of life didn’t seem present here, or maybe it was just under your nose.
“You look starved.” You almost snap your neck at the low sound of a man’s voice from behind you. The pulsing in your body from your new instincts were too strong to focus on anything else around you but the taste for blood. The smell of the rawness around you felt uncontrollable and terrifying. How did you not smell him? “You must be a newer vampire. You’re shaking like one. Well- those are what the rumors I’ve heard say at least.” The man walked toward you, stopping as he noticed your teeth digging into your bottom lip to ebb the tingling sensation in your mouth. “I shouldn’t approach a new aged vampire, but I’m willing to take the risk to rid myself of mortality. So, how about we trade?”
“I know you’re hungry”
He comes closer, offering his neck. It looked so wide, breakable and full of blood. He lifts your chin, but you don’t even seem to notice. “I heard transformations take days..so maybe you and I can get to know one another better, and I can feed you in the time being.” Nothing about this was sentimental or romantic to you. All you wanted to do was messily tear your teeth through his neck. You doubt you’d leave enough blood for him to stay alive, let alone transform. Days of getting to know him? Your body was already holding back as much as you could. You were about to murder him.
You bare your fangs, short nails growing ten times longer as you sink them into his shoulders. You’re about to bite him..kill him..but when you go for a taste your teeth only dig into a cold, dead arm.
“I told you to stay in the bed.” Your wife glares at you, ruby eyes a fiery crimson as she pushes the man away from you to the floor, before holding you to her chest. “Depart, mortal” her tongue rang with venom “if you wish to get your immortality you best look elsewhere, unless you have a death wish.”
The man shivers, freezing for a moment before clumsily getting up and departing back inside the dark castle halls. Your wife was lucky she was an older, stronger vampire, otherwise she probably wouldn’t be able to drag you back to your shared room.
“This is why you should listen to me—“ she has you in a collar tied to a long chain near the bedside table. It’s not like this would be enough to hold you back, but you’d rather be stuck in weak chains than face the fury of your pissed off wife. You were sure she would be much more ruthless if you dared to even try breaking free. “You do not want to kill civilians, do you?”
“I do not..”
“Then stay put.” You’ve never seen her so annoyed before throughout your whole relationship, she looked furious.
“Anything you need you can find through me. I do not like seeing you wrapped to a human man, not then, not ever.” It was true that your wife always has a distaste for human men. Honestly, even stray male vampires who lingered a bit too close to you always ended with a protective arm over your shoulder.
“What do you need?” Her voice is a bit softer now as she kneels to meet you on the floor, the chill of both your hands are of no concern as she tries to sooth and warm your palm by rubbing her thumbs over your skin. “I do not wish to see you in pain.”
“My teeth are too sensitive.. and I need— “crave” blood”
“Then use me” lowering the upper side of her nightgown, she exposes her full neck. She didn’t have normal blood, obviously, but the feeling would be just the same. The only difference was she could actually handle how rough you were to become.
“I don’t wish to hurt you.”
“Oh honey,” she holds your chin, “I’ve dealt with worse pain.”
“I can certainly deal with your little tantrum.”
You shoot her a harsh glare, but she pays you no mind. She lowers your head, pulling you close to her icy embrace. Only when you’re merely an inch away do you finally bite into her. You try to be gentle, but each suck and lick were no use. For an undead person, your wife always tasted so sweet on your tongue. “You can always come to me,”
light bites weren’t enough for you, you needed to be rougher, and you knew she’d let you. All bets were off the table right now for soft touches. That coming from the both of you.
“Are you ok?” You pull away, surprised by her untouched calm expression.
“Hm?” She raises a brow, rubbing your forehead. “Was I not satisfactory?”
“Should I throw in a scream? Pretend for your sake?”
“You already know the answer to that question. Stop being ridiculous.” You pout, pulling her into you. You could never be close enough..
“You’re still hungry aren’t you?” She stands up to your disappointment, walking to the bedroom closet to grab at a sealed bag. Inside were a few small vials filled with a dark red liquid which you could assume was blood.
“Where have you been keeping these..?”
“In a refrigerator, how else do you think they’re so well preserved? I’m surprised you haven’t smelt them. Now, be a good girl and say ahhh-“ she grips your chin, coaxing you to open your mouth before spilling the thick blood between your lips. “I’ve been holding back on giving you a taste, but since you’re far too gone I’ll entertain your cravings..”
You swallow it whole, licking your bottom lip to catch a stray drop threatening to ooze down your chin. “Where..did you get it from?”
“I buy mine at an underground market, I have my preferences.” She pops another vial open with her mouth “I don’t like to get my hands dirty. It’s not pretty.”
“I like staying clean for my sweet wife, but since you want to act rough, I most certainly can comply.”
She pours the whole tube into her mouth before leaning in to kiss you, grabbing onto your ass to seat you on her lap.
Your kiss is sloppy and wet, both of you clawing into one another with sharp nails to get a taste of the blood and one another’s flavor. You try to swallow as much as you can without gagging. The taste wasn’t something you were immediately used to despite your heavy cravings.
“Mh—“ your wife pushes you to the wall, her strength working numbers since you weren’t able to move. Blood coats on both of your chins and chest after you both pull away to face each other, a huge mess.
“I didn’t like seeing that man so close to you.” She whispered, leaning her forehead to yours. She looked vulnerable, less angry now.
“I am sorry..I was only hungry,” you whispered back, a lot of regret present in your expression. “I wasn’t sure what to eat. All I wanted was blood.” You looked ashamed. “I'm sure I’d kill him if you didn’t come along..”
“You’re hungry, restless, I get it.” Your wife’s tone is gentle once more, nuzzling her nose into you to soothe your anxious thoughts. “That’s why you ask me. I am here for you, my heart.”
Her tongue meets your cheek, licking away the blood smeared on your skin before lowering herself between your breasts. “You wouldn’t mind if I cleaned you up, would you?” Her sharp nail rips through your nightgown, shredding it in half before exposing you bare. She hauls you to the bed, eyeing over you with a predatory gaze “You’re all sticky, you know I can’t stand a mess.”
“You do look gorgeous like this though..” she snarled, kissing her way between your breast and down your stomach before coming face to face with your pussy. “I hate to be wasteful, so let me be careful as to not waste a drop.”
Before you can question her she pours another vial of blood over your pussy, licking her lips as she watches your shocked expressions.
“It’s not fair..” you frown “I’m the one who's hungry..”
“You think I won’t let you have a taste?” She licks your clit “your pussy is too sweet, I’d be cruel not to let you try it like this.”
“And lucky for me that it’s all mine.”
She’s rough, sloppily making out between your folds and slurping blood along with your arousal. Her hands are rough, much rougher than when the two of you had sex when you were a human..you had no idea she’s been holding back this much until now.
“Mhh..” you tried to lift your leg, but she kept you grounded with her hand as she abused your clit. She had kept her promise. She wasn’t going to let you go anywhere until she’s cleaned up the blood and cum between your puffy folds.
She's relentless, fast tongue basically vibrating against you as she eats you out. And when you do cum she’s there to clean you up again. A never ending cycle.
“Don’t you see how much better I can treat you?”
“You won’t need anything else but my tongue to calm you down.”
A/N: I really love monsters, I want to try writing for more soon. If anyone has any suggestions lmk! I wanna write for more orcs and robots in the futureee.
Summary: You find out that you and Daryl have more in common than you thought.
Warnings/Tags: heavier angst, self-burning, self-harm mentions, trauma, mentions of past child abuse, hurt/comfort, new relationship, female reader (she/her), season five, no use of y/n
Word count: 952 words
A/N: There's a major trigger warning for self-harm in this fic. If you find yourself in a mental health crisis, and you live in the US, call or text 988. Similar to a previous fic that involves self-harm, I didn't write the actual act, but the aftermath. Also, this was requested, and I just want to thank the user for trusting me to write such a sensitive topic. This is a struggle for many people, myself included. Also, the prompt that this fits is from this massive masterlist from @castielscaplan.
This is for Bee's Fourteen Days of Love - day 02: Comfort.
Masterlist | D.D. angst masterlist
As you slept in your new bed, you started to stir and realized that Daryl wasn't beneath the sheets beside you. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes and slowly sat up. It was then that you heard it: small gasps and sniffling. Was Daryl crying?You hadn't seen him cry since Beth died, so you couldn't be sure.
All you saw was his dark hair and trembling shoulders as he sat on the floor with his back resting against the bed. You also smelled the scent of cigarette smoke. Rick had asked Daryl not to smoke in the house, but this wasn't the time for a lecture. Careful not to startle him, you cleared your throat and whispered.
“Daryl?”
Quickly wiping his face, Daryl sat up straighter and covered his left hand. That was unusual, and you flipped on the bedside lamp. He still had his back to you, but he waved you off and mumbled gruffly.
“Go back to bed, darlin'. I'll join you in a minute.”
You instinctively knew something was wrong, but you didn't want to make Daryl uncomfortable. After a moment of weighing your options, you decided to check on him anyway. Shifting in the bed, you moved to the edge and gently ran your fingers through your boyfriend's hair.
Daryl flinched before leaning into the touch. He'd put the cigarette out, but you could tell that he was still covering his hand. Based on your own experiences, you knew what he had done. You weren't going to make a big deal out of it, though. That would only make him more defensive. Instead, you hesitantly broke the silence.
“You have to clean that out, y'know? Get the ash outta the wound.”
If you were anyone else, Daryl would've either played dumb or lashed out. He trusted you, though. With his injury still concealed, he sighed softly and tried to downplay the situation.
“Ain't that bad. Never cleaned 'em before.”
“It doesn't have to be severe. You can still get an infection. Now, isn't the time to risk that. I could help you clean it.”
The intimacy of that level of care was completely foreign to Daryl. His father and brother would've shamed him for engaging in these behaviors. Why did you want to care for him? Part of him wanted to reject the offer, but you were looking at him with that tender expression on your face. He let out another deep sigh and nodded.
“Yeah, okay.”
Getting out of bed, you grabbed his uninjured hand and helped Daryl to his feet. You kept a hold of it as you lead him to the bathroom. He sat down on the edge of the bathtub as he watched you move around the small room. Even in his emotional state, he couldn't deny how beautiful he found you. Feeling his eyes on you, you looked over and raised an eyebrow. You tried to sound nonchalant, but your cheeks were flushed.
“What?”
“Nothin'. You're just real pretty.”
Despite playfully rolling your eyes, you smiled and walked back over to him. You were holding a cup filled with water, and you motioned for his hand. Daryl wasn't looking forward to the actual wound cleaning, but he didn't mind you touching him. You inspected the wound before speaking again.
“Alright. Put your hand over the tub and I'll rinse the wound. I'm just usin' water.”
“Ain't you s'posed to use rubbin' alcohol or somethin'?”
“Only if you want to slow the healin' process and kill the good bacteria.”
“How do you know all that?”
You weren't the biggest fan of talking about your past, but you knew Daryl could relate. You took a steadying breath and poured the water. Kissing the side of his head when he winced, you thought about how much you wanted to share. You finally answered his question.
“I used to do the same thing. Just not with cigarettes. I had a friend teach me how to properly clean the wounds. Burns aren't that much different.
There was a flicker of sadness in his eyes, and Daryl blinked hard. You hadn't intended on making him cry, and you were about to backtrack when he cut you off.
“Thank you for tellin' me, sweetheart. I ain't known anyone else who's done this.”
Smiling softly, you nodded and wiped one of his stray tears with your thumb. You'd finished rinsing the wound, and you cleared your throat. God, you loved this man. Neither of you were ready to say that, though. You spoke up again and shifted to grab a bandage from the counter.
“You'd be surprised by how many people have felt like that. I'm gonna wrap your hand, okay? No one will question it, given the whole apocalypse thing.”
Even though he was still a bit choked up, your last comment made him laugh a little. He looked up at you and matched your energy with a joking comment of his own.
“Yeah? Maybe I'll say that I fought a walker instead of battlin' my mind.”
“Now, that's a great excuse.”
Your acceptance meant more to Daryl than he could express. He pressed a quick kiss to your shoulder and examined his now bandaged hand. You'd wrapped it well, and he was starting to feel more at ease. You looked tired, though.
“Thank you for doin' all this, baby. Let's get back to bed, yeah?”
After the two of you returned to your bedroom, you both got comfortable and Daryl's head was laid against your chest. He was worn out from emotional stress, and he quickly fell back asleep. You stroked his hair until you joined him in slumber. The rest of the night went without incident.
you worry what the group would think of you if they knew you made a living as a broke actress. and as the closest thing to what daryl dixon would consider a ‘best friend’, you couldn’t help but fear he’d assume you were an uppity douchebag hipster. [since the start of the show is set in 2010, pre-apocalypse pop culture revolves as such. and post 2010 stuff do not exist obvi :3]
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
You never revealed who you were before The Turn to your group. When asked, you’d only reply vaguely.
It wasn’t the same for the others. Some were outright truths told by the person themselves; like Rick and Glenn. Some were easy guesses, based on the description of their old lives.
You weren’t ashamed of your career, but you just didn’t see the point in explaining or volunteering information from your past life. You weren’t really an open person, preferring to keep to yourself most of the time. You were friendly, sure, but you loved your privacy more.
In addition to all of that, you didn’t want to tell them in fear of them assuming you were weak or useless. You knew some people didn’t really think an acting career was worth it unless you were Britney-Spears-level famous or Pamela Anderson’s doppelgänger. Plus, most people in the group had very valuable jobs — being in the force, the military, educators, lawyers… skill heavy jobs that proved to be useful in the current state of the world — so you had all the reason more to stay quiet.
And what would Daryl think? He was a perfect addition to the group with his outstanding hunting and survival skills. He adapted pretty quickly to the lack of modern technology, which you figured wasn’t that far-fetched for a redneck like him. However, he had a bitingly curt attitude that often made you feel inferior, even when it wasn’t directed at you (it never was, not once). You thought that if he ever found out he was going to throw some very creative insults your way, you could imagine his gruff voice saying them.
What are ya’ gunna do? Recite Shakespeare in front of a walker? Entertain em’ to death?
It was just a tiny, little, harmless secret.
You’d been with your group since the quarry and since then, no one suspected a thing from you, you gave them no reason to either. Although you were a bit suspicious of why the universe suddenly favored your pleas, as not one person had recognized you — not like you expected them to, anyway — but there had been a few instances in the past where people would stop you in the street for a picture or ask with suspiciously narrowed eyes, ‘you look like that girl in that movie’.
However, that was before the world got infested by walking, rotting, man-eating corpses, so you were delighted to know that nobody would even care or bother to bring up the more irrelevant parts of pop culture in conversation.
Daryl for sure wouldn’t.
———
There’d been a couple of teetering moments; like when Glenn asked you about your ability to fight, you didn’t tell him it was because you got a role in an action movie and had to train for weeks to look the part; it was a horribly CGI’d train-wreck of a film that you worked tirelessly and—unfortunately—vainly for. So instead, you told Glenn you took classes it so you could fight giant mutant spiders from Mars, which wasn’t far from the truth, and that confused him enough to wave him off.
You used to regret taking on said role. Your agent had convinced you it was going to be the next big blockbuster and that a ‘big name’ starring in it would pave the way for its success, so you did everything you could to prep—MMA, kickboxing, and changes to your diet—only to be let down when the ‘big name’ pulled out last minute when she got a better offer. After what you endured, you couldn’t watch She’s All That without cursing Rachael Leigh Cook for damning you.
It flipped quickly when you realised she had unintentionally contributed to your survival, so now you mentally sang praises to her name whenever your skills came in handy.
When Daryl thanked you for saving his ass the night the quarry was swarmed, you were orchestrating concerts in your head thanking Rachael for the butterfly effect she caused. He very briefly complimented with a huff that you had a mean front kick and a keen aim. You almost wanted to find that walker you killed and kiss it for what Daryl said to you, until you realised how insane that thought was.
He seemed more friendly after the exchange and it made you braver to approach him more often. This resulted in the two of you forming a bond of alliance; with him always offering you to ride with him on his bike or truck when the group travelled around, or how you always volunteered to keep watch with him at night, staying awake together and sharing a pack of cigarettes. He was always reluctant to leave your side since then, finding himself worrying if you weren’t within his line of vision.
You didn’t notice it and neither did he, but others in the group shared curious glances to how inseparable the two of you had grown to be. ‘Attached at the hip’ as Dale would put it, murmuring something about love-doves when the two of you rode off into the sunset.
———
When Rick’s group arrived at the Greene farm, Beth took one look at you and you instantly caught the hint of recognition shining in the young blonde’s eyes—a look you hadn’t seen a long time. When she raised her eyebrows and innocently asked you if she’d met you before, you noped the hell out of that situation and made up some excuse about having ‘just one of those faces’.
It was around this time when you barely saw Daryl as he had been circling the woods looking for Sophia, which stuck you with the ladies. You didn’t mind at all, finding their company lovely and inviting—except for Andrea—but Beth always seemed to eye you every chance she got, subtlety clearly not being her strong suit. It made you nervous to know that she might know you from some piece of media you were in.
You got extremely lucky when you strolled into the Greene’s living room one day and caught your eye on a familiar CD case sticking out from one of the TV cabinets, the colour scheme and periodic costumes sticking out to you like a sore thumb. It was out of the question for you to leave it alone, so you made a plan to sneak in that night to grab it and dump it far, far away from anyone’s sights. It was a small victory, one that depended on the Greenes not missing their DVD copy of the cheap production of A Christmas Carol too much. You couldn’t judge their extensive collection of Hallmark Christmas movies, seeing as you were the star in one of them. While you were glad that you caught it before anyone else did, if this was a different time and place (as in, pre-walker world), you’d actually be flattered.
Those were the early days where everything was freshly apocalyptic, but now you had pushed the thought to the furthest corners of your mind, fatigue and trauma taking over the highlights of your anxieties. If you found yourself thinking about it, it dissipated in a second…no one cared to pry anymore.
Boy, were you wrong.
———
Your group stumbled upon an old prison that hadn’t been claimed by any of the living yet. Rick decided that it was perfect to take refuge in, as the farm was long gone by now. After avoiding the herd for so long you were all desperate for a miracle, so no one challenged the Sheriff when he led the way.
As you watched the sun set, you tried to relieve the soreness in your muscles by doing a couple of stretches. Your body still ached from the day’s labor, working together with the rest to clear the prison yard of twice-dead Walkers after going through the hassle of luring them out and taking them out in the first place… to say it was back-breaking was an understatement.
Everyone was comfortably gathered around the fireside. It was the first time they’d felt secure in months; the wired fences, the promise of tomorrow, the small spark of hope in their chests.
You walked over to the overturned bus with a plate of food in your hands. It looked pathetically bare; still, it was better than nothing and you’ve had plenty of ‘nothing’ on the menu for weeks.
“You know, I once heard that you can’t shoot straight on an empty stomach.” You teased lightly, looking up at the archer who stood on top of the bus, body language tense and on guard. You didn’t notice that as soon as you came into his sights, his tense posture dropped slightly, shoulders drooping and eyes softening.
Just slightly. Not enough for anyone to notice it, not even him.
“Psh. No, ya’ didn’t.” Daryl scoffed, his tone equally playful, but gruff. “Ya’ made that up.”
“Yeah, I made it up.” You nodded with a slight laugh, confirming his accusation. Your eyes shone mischievously as the daylight started to fade away. “But it might be true, who knows?”
You stood on your tip-toes and pushed the plate onto the surface of the bus before hoisting yourself up, accepting the hand that Daryl reached out to you so it was easier.
You absolutely did not try to hide the blush that crept onto your face when your fingers grazed his and you absolutely did not let your grasp on his hand stay just a millisecond longer than it had to.
You also absolutely did not move just an inch closer to him when you gained your composure on the side of the big, ugly bus.
It was a friendly gesture. Friends hold hands. Friends help each other climb up buses all the time. Friends get butterflies in their bellies when their shoulders touch.
“Eat, Dixon.” You picked the plate up and shoved it lightly towards him. “I may not know much but it’s common sense that an empty stomach won’t do you any good.”
He hesitated for a moment before huffing incredulously and accepting the plate from you.
“Don’t need ya’ babysittin’ me now, woman.”
“Don’t need you to pass out from hunger now, Dixon.” You teased back. “That would be an embarrassing way to go out, don’t you think?”
He had already stuffed himself with the first thing he could grab out of the platter, mouth too full to respond with a comprehensive sentence. Before he could swallow, you continued.
“Imagine that…in a world full of walking corpses, someone dying because they rejected a plate of cold beans in the name of pride.”
“Ain’t proud.” He rolled his eyes. You only chuckled quietly in response.
“Keep telling yourself that.” You nudged his elbow, making a face at his attempt at fibbing.
Daryl continued to eat what little food he had while you sat in comfortable silence, thoughtlessly looking up at the darkening sky. It wasn’t long until colours of the sunset were replaced by a Van Gogh-esque palette, the dark blues and ivory shades creating a tasteful scene.
The shy man watched you silently as you arched your neck to look up at the sky, your breaths slow and relaxed. The two of you were appreciating nature’s beauty, only the subject he was looking at was different than the one you were enthralled by.
Your relationship with Daryl Dixon was something that no one had expected to grow…and yet it did, like a stubborn little seedling in the winter.
Both of you had grown to become more than just allies, even daring to admit that you were friends, but never saying it out loud. You thoroughly enjoyed each other’s company, even going so far as to shamelessly seek each other out when you were lonely or just plain bored—you more so than Daryl, but he never seemed to mind. He was rough and borderline rude to everyone, but when he was alone with you, it was a whole other version that he never let anyone else see. Daryl appreciated that he could be vulnerable around you.
“I wonder how I’m gonna go.” The thought slipped out of your mind and rolled off your tongue so suddenly that it didn’t occur to you that you said it out loud.
Daryl shifted in his seat. “Y’ain’t.”
“Hmm? Ain’t what?” The cicadas in the distance filled in the gaps of your conversation, the rhythmic chirping unchanged by the circumstances of the world. If you closed your eyes and tried real hard, you could pretend that everything was normal and that a PG18+ Thriller music video wasn’t being directed and produced by the Universe right beyond the fences (minus the King of Pop).
Daryl chewed on his thumb, a bad habit he picked up since he was a kid. “Goin’…dyin’. I ain’t letting ya’. Not on my watch, Y/N.”
He said it so strongly, gazing into your eyes with an odd expression that you couldn’t quite place.
“Death himself would have to go through me to get ya’.”
The cicadas paid no mind to the explosions going off in your heart and in your head, continuing their ad-free, non-copyright background music as the two of you stared into each other’s eyes. If you could just…lean in closer…you’d be able to feel his lips…on yours…
You cleared your throat, desperate to find a distraction.
“We should go back to the group.” You turned around to climb down the bus, pushing off and grunting softly as you landed with a soft thud. “Come on Dixon, fire looks warm enough.”
“Go on. I’m standing guard here, don’t worry bout me.”
You beamed at him, bidding him a sweet goodbye before making your way to the bright source of man-made light, hugging yourself in an attempt to comfort the nerves that had risen up to your throat.
As you reached the circle your group had formed around the fire, you heard the tail-end of their conversation. It was instantaneous, the way the acute sense of regret and dread began to form at the bottom of your stomach when you realised what you got yourself into. Especially when Beth turned to you and started directing her question to you.
“What was your line of work, Y/N?”
Nice. Throwing yourself to the wolves. Amazing.
“Me?” You pointed to yourself, anxious at the sudden and unexpected question — one that was inevitable and way long overdue. You couldn’t avoid it after all.
But you’d have to try, damn it.
“Yeah. We were just talking about our lives before all this.” Beth explained shyly in her southern belle drawl, her eyes barely meeting yours. “What job we had, where we lived…stuff like that.”
(“And things.” Rick chimed in from the back.)
You realised you’d been quiet for a beat too long and now everyone was staring at you intently, waiting for an answer.
You instantly put all those years of acting classes into full throttle, gears clicking back into place as your brain tapped into a decade’s worth of experience. If there was a time to put on an act, it was now.
You shrugged cooly—subconsciously copying what you’ve seen Daryl do with his shoulders—feigning nonchalance. “I did a few jobs, here and there. You could say I was a freelancer of sorts.”
“In what?” Carl chirped, curious.
“Huh?”
“A freelancer in what?”
“Ah, random jobs, really. From running a hot dog stand to killing giant monsters from outer space.” Both true. “Or, you know what, actually there was that time I almost became Spiderman’s girlfriend. Shame I didn’t though.”
Carl scoffed, a lopsided grin stretching across his face. Everyone seemed to be amused at what they thought was your light-hearted joking, which it was, but you weren’t exactly making things up; you didhave a cameo as a hot dog stand owner and the ‘giant monsters’ was a reference to the movie with the mutant spiders, and the ‘joke’ about Spiderman? You auditioned for the role of Mary Jane and actually got far in the running for it, so much that they asked you to do a screen test with Tobey Maguire. Ultimately the role went to Kirsten Dunst, but the experience was enough for you.
“I didn’t know you were a Marvel fan.” Glenn’s face lit up at the mention of the comic superhero.
“I wasn’t until that moment, to be honest.”
“Did you see the movie? Man, that was awesome. It wasn’t that comic-accurate but seeing it in theatres changed my life.”
You laughed half-heartedly, “Yeah, same.”
“That’s a lot of odd jobs.” Lori chuckled, running her hands over her pregnant belly. “But I am curious, and so is the little one by the way they’re kicking, oomph…what did you really do for a living? If you don’t mind me asking.”
You could have just said it then and there, but you didn’t. The initial reasoning behind it shouldn’t actually matter now if logic played into your decision; you trusted these people now after what you’ve been through together, plus, telling them you were an actress wasn’t going to change the way you proved yourself useful on multiple occasions. But you held on to this secret for so long that it was starting to superglue itself onto you, unwilling to be set free. There was also the small but very much real fear of sounding conceited or narcissistic.
“Well, I was a freelancer…for a company…that managed some small and sometimes big projects. Nothing interesting, really.”
Lori seemed satisfied with your response, as did the others, moving on to bothering T-Dog who was sitting next to you.
——
The group made a sanctuary out of the prison, which everyone now considered as home. There were people other than just your little group, survivors that were also on the hunt for refuge gratefully accepting community and shelter in exchange for civil behaviour and contributions on their part.
You were out on a supply run with a few people to scavenge an old superstore that didn’t seem like it had been fully raided by the living yet, from the looks of the exterior. It was going well so far.
“...a mechanic?” The conversation came within earshot before you could even avoid it. Daryl scoffed at Zach, shaking his head and his shoulders in a full-bodied shrug that you had become all too familiar with.
“My side’s cleared out.” You interrupted, happily gesturing to the packs filled with canned food and other supplies that you managed to find. The two men jumped slightly when your voice cut them off, “What? You boys hiding something from me?”
“Nope,” Zach turned to look at you, an amused smile evident on his face. “Just trying to guess what Daryl was before.”
“You two still playing that game?” You chuckled, leaning on the wall next to the archer. “He got any right yet, D?”
“Nah.”
“Oh, come on! Not even close?” Zach huffed, bewildered. “I thought I got it, man. I mean I’ve seen you work on cars, and your bike.”
You fought to keep a smile back, “Sounds like a tough game. Let me know when you pass, Zach. Sounds like a win worth celebrating.”
Daryl eyed you from where he sat, an unreadable expression settling across his features. He watched as you threw a playful wink Zach’s way, ignoring the flips in his stomach when you turned to him and gave him the look he loved so much.
“What about you, Y/N?” Zach quipped.
“What about me?”
“What did you work as before all this?”
Freezing for second, you wondered if you should just get it over with and tell the truth or keep it to yourself for just a little longer.
The latter felt more safe.
You gave him what you gave everyone as an answer, “I freelanced.”
“For what?”
“Big company, random projects…eh, nothing much. Boring stuff.”
“Oh, you’re just as bad as he is, Y/N! What is with you guys and suspense?” Zach laughed, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Come on, the rest should be done by now.” Daryl remarked, pushing himself off the small ledge he was sitting on. Zach moved forward, slinging his gun off his back and holding it at the ready. He walked over to you, gently grabbing a bag from your hands to carry it himself.
“Oh, I’m fine.” You tried to object, but to no avail, the loveable culprit already moving ahead of you.
“Got stronger arms than you, woman.” He flexed his bicep in front of you jokingly. “I ain’t forget the time you hurt your shoulder because of a damn pack Rick made ya’ carry.”
Thank God he was staring directly ahead because the involuntary lip-bite would have been hard to play off.
“Fine, let me drive, then.” You retorted.
“You can’t drive stick for shit.”
“Maybe because a certain someone won’t teach me even after I’ve asked him a billion times!”
“Hey,” he drawled. “Rick’s the one you should be askin’ to give you drivin’ lessons. Not me. I’m not built for being a teacher.”
“That’s because you can’t drive a manual either.”
“One time… I stall the damn truck one time!”
You laughed, finally picking up the pace and matching your strides with his so the two of you could walk side-by-side. You entered the building, ready to meet at the rendezvous point you all had agreed to.
Daryl was muttering something about gutting squirrels when you were stopped by Glenn holding up a poster, mouth agape in disbelief.
“That’s you isn’t it!?”
Your heart dropped into your stomach and then into your ass.
“Well,” Daryl blinked. “That does look an awful lot like you.”
“That IS HER!!!” Glenn freaked, poking the top part of the poster to prove his point. “That’s her NAME!”
You were absolutely frozen in spot, equally as freaked as the discovery. James McAvoy’s eyes seemed to meet yours through the paper, mocking you for the stupid look you had on your face. Well, your face-face, not the printed version of your face.
“Wanted…relentless in-your-face action,” Daryl had moved closer to study the poster’s texts, less surprised than you thought he’d be. “Ya’ look good.”
“How are you not freaking out?!” Glenn shook the paper and held it up higher. “Y/N why didn’t you tell us you were a freaking movie star?
“I’m not.” You managed to cough out.
“Dude, you’re in an action movie with Morgan Freeman and you’re on a poster looking like a superhero, you’re telling me you’re not movie star???”
“I got lucky with landing that part!” You defended, “Half of my other ones were shit!”
The film, Wanted, came out in 2008, a few years before the world ended. You were proud of it, having prepped for it in a similar way you did for the aforementioned failed alien spider movie. It actually could have been your big break if it wasn’t for the zompocalypse; if you remember correctly, you were up for another action-based role alongside your former co-star James. There was no way to know if you could have actually made it big, society collapsing before your success could even sprout.
“Look what I found,” Zach half-jogged over to you, Glenn and Daryl. “More of you, Y/N!”
In his hands were three CD cases of varying sizes, each one of them with different versions of your face on it. One of them was a small production that had you as the lead, and the other two you had only minor roles in but major enough to get you on the poster you supposed.
“You were on Pirates of the Caribbean?!“
“What?” Confused, you did a double-take, snatching away the CD from Zach’s hands. “Gimme that.”
“Oh,” you recalled, shock replaced by your need to feed your own curiosity. “Yeah, I remember now. I did Las Vegas the same year so maybe that’s why it slipped my mind.”
“You were in Las Vegas?”
“No, I did a show called Las-“ you cut off when you realised you were talking. “Where the hell did you guys even find this? And why?”
“We were walking pass the candy aisle when we saw your poster on the ground.” Zach mentioned. “Freelancer? Really?”
“I mean-“
“You told us you ran a hot-dog stand!”
“Technically, I did-“
“Wait…were you actually Spiderman’s girlfriend?!?!”
You buried your face in your hands, groaning. Seems like the universe finally ended your secrecy contract to fuck with you now.
“Come on, we should get goin’ ‘fore sundown.” Daryl grunted, moving past the three of you to lead your group out.
He didn’t seem surprised at all, which in turn surprised you. Your mind was reeling; Daryl wasn’t the type to show emotion outright, was he upset that you lied? Maybe he had a thing against theatre kids?
You wanted to jog up to him and blurt out all of the things you were saying in your head, anything to prove to yourself he wasn’t hurt by what you hid, or worse, disgusted. But between Glenn and Zach, the two had you surrounded, bombarding you with a million questions you could barely even make out.
One sharp whistle from the archer reminded your group to haul ass but they did so without leaving your side, Glenn still holding up the poster like it was a holy relic, excitedly chattering your ear away with variations of ‘Why didn’t you say you were famous?’, ‘Who else have you worked with?’ and so and so.
It was a long ride back to the prison, you frozen in the passenger seat with Daryl driving the pickup truck, Glenn and Zach deciding to tag along to continue their impromptu interview session. You had went into auto-pilot, murmuring vague replies and cringing at yourself for being so awkward about the whole thing.
Once you arrived at the prison , the two curious interviewers were ushered off to carry supplies to their respective stations and Daryl put the truck in park. You braced yourself for impact, secretly hoping the world would swallow you up whole right then and there so you wouldn’t have to face the rest of your found family. You stayed put, not even glancing at Daryl when he got out of the car.
The open window failed to serve as a barrier between you and the outside world, but you wanted to savour the last few moments of your dignity while you still could.
The sound of soft knocking against metal broke you out of your trance, only to see the man whose opinion you worried about most standing beside you.
“You gon’ get out of there or what?” He leaned against the side of the car, his eyes crinkling with… amusement?
“I don’t know. Part of me wants to stay here forever, and another part of me wants to take the keys from your pocket, drive out of here and disappear.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” He huffed. “Disappear? Why?”
You looked at him, bewildered. “I… did you not… huh?”
He shrugged, giving you a sideways smile. Then he pressed something rolled up into your hand. The feel of glossy paper was hard to miss, and one glance at yours and McAvoy’s warped faces proved your suspicions.
“I made them hand it over to me. Don’t worry, Glenn’s smart enough to know he should keep his mouth shut.”
You stared at him, unblinking, still in a daze. “You…?”
He opened the car door, fully smirking as he leaned closer to your side. “So, tell me… Were you really Spiderman’s girl or was that just a ruse to get them off your back?”
At this point, you were completely and utterly speechless. Daryl chuckled at your uncharacteristic response, “I think that’s the longest I’ve seen you silent.”
“Why aren’t you…?” What could you even say? Why aren’t you surprised? Cringing? Hurt because I lied? Weirded out because I’m not who you thought I was?
He shut your brain up with one sentence.
“You know, if you’re gonna steal someone’s DVD and toss it out, I recommend you either bury or burn it, Miss Christmas Carol.”
“No way.”
“You’re lucky it wasn’t Glenn who found it. Trashcan, Y/N, really? Not even chucking it out in the woods?”
“I panicked, okay?! And I was still stuck with pre-apocalypse world morales. I didn’t think littering would do the environment any favours.”
“So that stray walkers wouldn’t stumble upon it and… watch it?”
“Dixon!” You shoved him playfully, finally stepping out of the car as you pushed past him. You heard his laughter even as you tried to put distance between you, not wanting him to see your flushed face.
“Ain’t nothin’ to be embarrassed about.”
“I thought you’d hate me.”
“For what? Being on movie posters? Makin’ a livin’? Hell, woman, I’ve seen worse things.”
“I didn’t want you or anyone having any premature judgments about me. People back then always thought I was either a pretentious brat or, god forbid, a pornstar.”
“You’re not either of those, so why bother?”
“You really don’t care?”
He moved closer to you, looking at you through the pieces of loose hair framing his face. “I’ll be real honest with you—I recognised you the first time we met.”
You gasped, “Oh my god. Daryl fucking Dixon. I did not take you for a movie guy.”
He put his hands up in mock-surrender, “Blame Merle. That Las Vegas show was one of the few things our TV played. He’d be passed out drunk on the couch with your show playing in the background.”
You couldn’t help but snort, “Figures. Shitty cable.”
“Nah, it wasn’t that bad. I thought you looked good on TV… look even better in real life, that’s what I thought when I saw you.” He gestured aimlessly, “You should be grateful you never met Merle, though. Dumb as my brother was, he would’a put ya’ on blast the second he saw you.”
“Why didn’t you?” The simple question escaped your lips before you had a chance to mull it over. It almost sounded accusatory, but Daryl Dixon knew you too well.
“Because I didn’t think it was worth mentioning when you never brought it up. B‘sides… we all have our pasts. I don’t think I’m the same man I was before, thought it wouldn’t be fair to you.”
You looked at him, really looked at him. He shied away from your gaze but you couldn’t help but admire the man before you. It was true, he came a long way from the man he was back when you met him in the quarry. The Daryl before you now was a Daryl who was kinder, less arrogant and—what you appreciated the most—sweeter to you. You chastised yourself for thinking your Daryl would react so harshly; he was nothing like his exterior. The tough, macho, redneck could have fooled anyone, but not you. You knew how emotionally intelligent the man was.
You smiled up at him, leaning a little bit closer to his chest as you did so. Suddenly you felt braver, as if the secret you kept had been weighing you down all along.
“The answer is no.”
“What?”
“No, I wasn’t Spiderman’s girlfriend. I fucked that audition up.”
He snorted. “You know what? I’m kinda glad you did.”
warnings: smut, face riding, lowkey sub daryl, yeah…
⸻
It all started because Eugene can’t mind his damn business.
You weren’t even in the room when it happened, which was a blessing and a curse. Because the story reached you through Tara, who was still crying laughing when she told it, and the secondhand embarrassment alone was enough to make you want to move out of Alexandria.
“Dude,” she wheezed, barely able to speak, “Eugene walked in on Rosita. On Abraham.”
You raised a brow. “On Abraham?”
“On. Like. Riding his face. Just full blown porno energy! I swear I’m not lying!”
You stared at her, horrified and already laughing.
“And the best part,” Tara said, “is Eugene trying to explain it like it’s some kind of… military maneuver. Called it a—what did he say?—a reverse frontal oral saddle maneuver. I swear to God.”
You choked. “What the hell does that even mean?”
“Means Rosita was sitting on Abraham’s face and Eugene’s whole worldview shattered,” Tara said. “He was rambling about it to me in the kitchen when Daryl walked by and heard the tail end of it. Just stopped and stared, like he saw a ghost.”
You blinked. “Daryl?”
“Oh yeah,” she nodded. “He heard the words ‘face’ and ‘saddle’ and turned bright red. Never seen that man move so fast… just turned around and booked it.”
At the time, you brushed it off. But later that night, back in your shared room, tucked into your warm little corner of post apocalyptic domestic bliss, you started to notice something… off.
Daryl was quiet. More than usual. Sitting on the edge of the bed, picking at a tear in his jeans, jaw tight like he was thinking hard.
“You okay?” you asked, brushing your hair out in the mirror.
He grunted. “Yeah.”
A beat of silence. Then came,
“Hey… you ever… sit on someone’s face before?”
You froze. Slowly turned around.
“…What?”
Daryl’s face was serious. Practically glowing. He rubbed the back of his neck and stared at the floor.
“Jus’… heard somethin’. Earlier. From Eugene. Somethin’ ‘bout Rosita. An’ Abraham. Tara said she was… y’know. On his face. Thought that was a thing women liked.”
Your jaw dropped, then you burst out laughing.
“Oh my God, Daryl—”
“I ain’t jokin’.” he huffed, crossing his arms, now fully defensive. “I ain’t never seen nothin’ like that before. Sounded kinda… I dunno. Hot.”
You bit the inside of your mouth, just to keep from grinning too hard. He was so serious. Nervous like a schoolboy. But his pupils were blown, his voice just a little breathless.
“You wanna try it?” you asked, tilting your head.
He hesitated. Then nodded.
“Yeah. Wanna see what it’s like.”
You didn’t even get to the bed.
Daryl was already sprawled out on the rug by the window, shirt off, looking like he was about to be sacrificed to the gods. His hands were clenched at his sides, nervous, lips parted like he didn’t know how to breathe right.
You stood over him slowly, watching his eyes trail up your body.
“You sure?” you asked gently.
“Yeah,” he mumbled. “I’m sure. Wanna… feel you.”
You crawled up over him, your knees on either side of his head, and his breath hitched as your thighs brushed his cheeks. He looked like he’d died and gone to heaven. His hands lifted slowly, reverently, to grip your hips.
“Holy fuck,” he breathed, eyes wide. “You’re so wet already…”
“Yeah baby,” you murmured, lowering yourself inch by inch, your slick dragging along his lips. “Been wet since you asked.”
He whimpered.
The moment your cunt settled fully on his face, Daryl groaned. Loud and desperate. His tongue shot out, licking up your folds in a long, messy stroke, hands digging into your thighs like he never wanted to let go.
“That’s it,” you gasped, threading your fingers through his hair. “Just like that.”
He was eating you like a man possessed. No hesitation now, no nervousness… just pure, hungry devotion. His tongue licked and lapped, his nose bumped your clit, and every time you rocked your hips down just a little harder, he moaned. The sounds he was making sent heat rushing straight to your core.
“Good boy,” you whispered. “My good boy.”
He whimpered into you, again. You looked down, and your stomach flipped.
He was grinding into the floor. His cock flushed and hard, untouched, smearing precum on his own stomach. The desperation in his hips made your head spin.
“Baby,” you cooed, cupping his jaw, “are you that worked up already?”
He nodded under you, lips glossy and wet. “Feels so good,” he gasped. “Could stay here forever…”
“You wanna come like this?” you teased. “Just from eating me out?”
He moaned something that sounded like please.
You couldn’t help yourself. You rode his tongue harder, grinding down, your thighs shaking as the heat built and built until—
You came with a cry, clenching around nothing, thighs trapping his face while he kept going like he needed it to live. When you finally pulled off him, his face was soaked, his eyes dazed, lips swollen and shining.
“Fuck…” he breathed.
You lied down beside him. “You okay?”
He nodded. “Fuckin’ obsessed with that,” he mumbled. “Think you broke my brain.”
You smiled and kissed him.
Daryl muttered, clearer this time,
“Wanna do that again?”
⸻
a/n i wrote this really quick PLZ ignore the rushed ending and lowkey sloppy writing okay bai
tags/warnings: fluff, grumpy x sunshine, established relationship, shy daryl, prison era, swearing, typical twd stuff
word count: 1.4k
summary: You risk your life for some stupid bracelets and Daryl risks losing his mind over your stupid smile.
a/n: I was giggling and kicking my feet writing this btw. Daryl is absolutely head over heels here. (he literally sat down and braided you a bracelet HELLO??)
》 masterlist
___
It’s another beautiful day at the prison. You get up early and spend the morning hovering around Daryl, rambling in that easy, half-joking way you always do whenever you’re with him. It’s become a habit now, almost routine. Where Daryl is, you’re never far behind, and sometimes it’s the other way around.
He’s crouched by his motorcycle, hands working over parts he’s probably done with already. Truth is, he’s been finished for a while, but he keeps up the act. Just to let you talk longer. Just to stay in your company a little more.
“You’re not done fixing it?” you ask, not for the first time today.
“Nah,” he says, same answer as always. You don’t call him out.
Leaning against the bike, you grin at some sudden thought. He looks up at you, squinting against the morning sun. “What?” he asks.
“Did I ever tell you how much I loved jewelry?” Your voice softens, edged with nostalgia, and that grin widens. Daryl just grunts, which you take as a no. “I used to be obsessed with it. Rings, necklaces, bracelets…” Your smile falters for only a second at the thought of a world that doesn’t exist anymore but it’s back almost instantly, your eyes glowing again. “Especially bracelets. I had this whole drawer full of em.”
Daryl studies you in the way he always does, soaking up your energy, drowning in your enthusiasm. He can’t explain it. He just likes watching you light up, like the world hasn’t managed to take that part of you away yet. “Yeah?” he mutters, forcing his gaze back to the motorcycle so you don’t notice how intently he’s listening.
“Mmhm. I had this dumb idea once. Matching bracelets with a boyfriend. Thought it’d be romantic.” You give him a sly grin. “Maybe I should’ve saved the idea for you.”
Daryl’s hands freeze. Heat crawls up the back of his neck, his ears burning. Matching bracelets? With you? Hell no. He can’t even look at you now, not when his brain’s already painting the damn picture of your hand slipping that thing onto his wrist, smiling all soft like it means something. He shakes the thought off fast. Stuff like that just isn’t for him. Not bracelets, not cute matching crap. He’s not the kind of man who gets to have that. “Ain’t wearin’ no damn bracelet.” He scoffs, muttering something about it being childish.
“Relax, Dixon. I’m kidding… mostly.” Your laugh rings out, light and genuine, and it knocks something loose in his chest.
___
A week passes, and you’re up on the watchtower when something catches your eye. A glint in the sun, just beyond the fence. Curiosity nags at you until you finally spot it: one of the walkers shuffling near the fence has something on its wrist. You squint, leaning forward, and your stomach flips.
“No fucking way,” you mutter, a grin tugging at your lips. Bracelets. Two of them. Your mind is already racing ahead, imagining yourself handing one to Daryl, imagining the look on his face. Anticipation surges, and before you can think twice, your feet are already moving. You make quick work of the rope that ties the fence closed, sliding through the gap, heart racing with both excitement and the kind of recklessness you’ve always carried around like a second skin.
The herd presses against the barrier, their groans echoing. You circle around them quietly, knife in hand. A couple of stragglers notice you, and you take them down cleanly, steel blade sliding through their rotting skulls. Your eyes stay fixed on your target. “Come on, ugly,” you taunt, waving your arm. “This way.”
The walker staggers toward you, snarling. You dart forward, driving your knife into its skull. For a second, relief floods through you, until the dead weight collapses against you, slamming you hard into the dirt.
“Fuck.” You groan, squirming beneath it, shoving the body aside until you’re free.
“Y/N!” a voice calls out, sharp with panic. You twist your head and see Glenn sprinting from the prison yard, eyes wide.
Instead of panicking, a laugh bursts out of you, breathless. Your hands fumble at the corpse’s arms, tugging at the bracelets. The first one slips free easily but when you yank at the second, it snaps, beads scattering across the grass. “Dammit!” you whine as you clutch the intact bracelet to your chest, still grinning despite yourself.
Glenn finally reaches you, chest heaving as he takes in the scene. His expression is halfway between horror and disbelief. “What the hell were you doing?”
You finally look up at him, sheepish but not all that sorry. “Sorry. I had to.”
His eyes flick to the bracelet clutched in your hand, and you can see it hit him, what you almost died for. He scrubs a hand over his face, muttering under his breath. “You’re insane,” he says as he helps you to your feet. Then his gaze drops to your arm. “Shit, Y/N. You’re bleeding.”
You follow his gaze and only then notice the cut on your forearm, blood sliding down in a thin line. You sigh and roll your eyes at yourself. “Great.”
___
By evening, word has reached Daryl. He storms into your cell, seeing you on the bunk with gauze wrapped around your arm. “Yer outta ya damn mind.” His sigh is heavy.
“Hey,” you smile up at him, sitting up. “I missed you too.”
“The hell were ya thinkin’ runnin’ out like that?” He kneels in front of you, eyes scanning the cut on your arm.
You hold up the bracelet, grinning like it’s no big deal. “I got this.”
Daryl stares at it, dumbfounded, then finally puts it together. “Ya didn’t-” He stops, looks at your unfazed smile, and sighs. “Ya nearly got yerself killed for some damn bracelet?”
You blink at him. “It wasn’t just any bracelet. It’s pretty. And it was fun. Besides,” you wave your wrist in front of him, “I got it, didn’t I?”
Daryl stares at the little loop of beads on your wrist like it is the stupidest thing in the world, but he can't ignore how happy you look, your eyes shining with pride. Still, what you did almost got yourself killed and he’s not letting it slide. He glares at you again. “Ain’t funny. Ya coulda got bit.”
“I didn’t.”
“Coulda.”
You soften, smile fading just enough. “Daryl… I just wanted something to remind me of before. Something normal.” He remembers the way you’d talked about bracelets, how much they’d meant to you. His brows relax slightly. He can’t stay mad. He never could when it comes to you.
___
The next morning, you wake to the faint press of something around your wrist. You lift your hand and freeze, blinking in the dim light. You scramble to your feet, flick on the lamp, and finally see it. A bracelet. Not the shiny one you risked your life for yesterday. This one is clumsy-looking, handmade, knotted strips of leather. Your breath catches. “What the…” You pull on your boots and hurry outside, finding him on the steps sharpening his knife. “Daryl.”
“Hm?” He doesn’t look up.
You march to stand in front of him, holding up your wrist. “What’s this?”
His ears turn red as he ducks his head.
“Daryl.”
He sighs and finally glances at you, that cornered, reluctant look he always wears when he does something vulnerable. Without a word, he lifts his own sleeve. On his wrist sits another bracelet, nearly identical to yours. Your eyes go wide, mouth hanging. “You…”
“Ain’t nothin’,” he mutters, looking away. “Just… figured ya wouldn’t be runnin’ after no damn walkers if ya had one already.”
You can’t stop smiling. You reach for his hand, tugging him to stand, dropping whatever he’s been holding onto the steps. You give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thank you.”
His face reddens instantly. He’s never used to your affection and suddenly doesn’t know what to do with his hands. “So… matching bracelets, huh?” you tease, trying to distract yourself from the warmth rising in your chest.
He groans, scrubbing a hand down his face as if it’ll erase the embarrassment. “Don’t start.” His eyes flick from the bracelets on your wrists to his, then back to your smile. He swallows hard, wishing the floor would swallow him whole.
You laugh, imagining him staying up in his cell, carefully making bracelets for you. Knowing he knows what you like, and that he values it… it gives you butterflies. “I’m never taking it off. You’re not either.”
Daryl scoffs, shaking his head, but the corner of his mouth betrays him, tugging up slightly. He finds himself thinking maybe, just maybe, he’ll make you a hundred more, a hundred lifetimes even, as long as it keeps you smiling like this.
___
if you enjoyed my writing pls leave a like to show me some love! feedbacks and reblogs are always appreciated♡
💭 .. 𝐈𝐅 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐊 ꒰ ✶ ꒱ daryl loves how needy you get for him sometimes and can’t help but tease
angel warnings ✉️ྀི ⋮ nsfw. minors do not interact !! established relationship. thigh riding. begging. public-ish sex. strong language. use of pet names ( darling, good girl ). female receiving orgasm. 1.4k words.
the leaves crunch beneath your feet as the sound of the wind rustling in the trees accompanies you on your walk through the woods. your footsteps are light, moving across the earth with ease as you approach the small clearing not too far from the campsite - that’s where you find him.
his broad shoulders are hunched over as he sits on a large tree stump, it’s crevices covered in a thin moss, and his legs spread out in a ‘v’ shape as he sharpens the end of a bolt with the pocketknife you had gifted him. his shaggy locks are pointed at the ends and stick to his forehead, damp with sweat from the virginian heat, and hiding his icy blue eyes away from you.
there’s a crumpled cigarette hanging between his lips - unlit - as if he’s cautious that it may be the last one he finds for a while and he wants to savour it before it’s gone.
he hears your footsteps before you make your presence known, recognising them immediately as his lovers, but he doesn’t look up or say anything. he doesn’t dare disturb the peace he’s found for himself just yet, as his fingers continue to glide the knife across the small wooden arrow he’s made.
“what’re you doing out here?” you ask, your voice like a soothing balm to his aching muscles as you stop just in front of him, placing a hand on your hip as the other shields your eyes from the afternoon sun poking through the treetops.
“takin’ a break,” he mumbles, face still aimed down though his hands stop now.
daryl had been working himself to the brim to help get the bridge built. his muscles were stiff and sore, his body covered in sweat, but it wasn’t anything short of the effort he always put in for his people. he always wanted the best for them. for you.
“good,” you say softly and he finally looks up at you. “you’ve been pushing yourself too hard again.”
“what, ya been watchin’ me?” he scoffs, though there’s no malice in it, his right eye scrunching closed from the sun.
you reach forward to brush the hair from his face, your fingers lingering on his skin for a moment as you reveal the extent of his tired eyes, “‘course. i’m always watching you.”
there was no lying in your words, he could tell that much, but there was a hint of something else. something that only he ever got the pleasure of hearing, or knowing. even with his years of studying you and learning your tells, your quips, this was the one thing no one else ever got to see.
“tha’ right?” the hint of a smirk graces his otherwise unbothered demeanor.
“mhm, it’s just…” you pause to take a deep breath, nodding your head to try and cover up the warmth gathering between your legs, but you knew he already knew. he always did. “it’s just the heat, is all.”
“jus’ tha heat?” his hand reaches up to graze the back of your thigh, his thumb running across your fabric-covered skin gently. he knew exactly what it was you wanted and he knew how to get you to admit it. “ya sure ‘bout that?”
you were already like putty in his hands. damn him for knowing you so well.
you nod, trying to hide it, but the already rapid beating of your heart and laboured breathing were a dead giveaway. your eyelids were heavy as he continued to massage the backs of your legs, discarding the bolt he was working on and stabbing his pocketknife into the side of the stump. he pulls you closer, till you’re standing between his legs, looking up at you with satisfaction at how quickly he could get a reaction out of you.
“ya sure it ain’t nothin’ else?” his voice is low and gravelly, his georgian accent like honey in your ears.
he pulls you down to straddle his right thigh, his large calloused hands holding you in place, despite how willingly you were letting him manipulate your movement. you have to hold back the small rumble of satisfaction that’s daring to fall from your lips as his thigh presses against your already aching core.
you could feel yourself melting in his grasp, desperate for him and any sort of friction.
leaning your head forward, you press your forehead against his as you shut your eyes for a moment and take a deep breath. your senses are filled with him and his musk - the tangy smell of his sweat - and it has you on edge with need.
“you… s’just you…” your voice is nothing but a mere breathy exhale.
“ya need me that bad, darlin’?” he grips your chin to make you look at him once more, his eyes scanning your features. he could see in the way your eyes had fallen even heavier and your lips slightly parted that you did in fact need him.
all you can do is nod at this point, “…please.”
“please, what?” his lip tugs into a small smirk.
“just…please…”
“say it again, darlin’.” he growls in your ear, his breath ghosting over your exposed neck and sending a wave of goosebumps over your skin.
you swallow hard, “p-please.”
“tha’s a good girl,” his hands grip the plushness of your thighs and he gently rolls your hips against him just once. he was going to give you what you wanted but he couldn’t resist teasing you a little when he knew how needy you were for him already.
the small glimpse of pleasure makes your core pulse and a sweet moan falls from your lips. you were desperate to keep rolling your hips but daryl had a firm, unmoving, grip on you that was preventing you from doing so.
“d-dar, please. please.” you pant, voice hoarse with desire.
he then removes his hands from your hips, taking your chin in his hand once more, “go ahead.”
it takes all but two seconds for you to begin using his thigh. your hips rolling against him needily as he presses it further up against your throbbing cunt, creating more of that delicious friction for you. he watches you with that deep fervor that only you’ve ever received from him, hands dropping to caress your arms as you desperately cling to his shoulders.
you were already so sensitive, the friction from your jeans pressing against you, the added pressure from his thick thigh, you knew you weren’t going to last long. with each roll of your hips, small desperate satiated moans fell from you, only deepening the arousal daryl was growing for you, but this wasn’t about him and he knew it - it was about you.
he watches you with dark eyes, the way your head starts to roll back and how you’re using him like a mere object to get yourself off. the heat radiating from your body, especially between your legs was enough to set him on fire. it was already hot, the weather already coating your skin in a sheen of dewiness, but as you continue to move against him, small droplets of sweat gather on your forehead and between the valley of your breasts.
daryl can’t take his eyes off of you. can’t get over how good you look.
“look at ya…. all desperate an’ needy…”
he could tell you were close, that it wouldn’t be long before you were meeting the pique of your pleasure. he pushes his thigh up a little more, wanting to help get you there, and another moan escapes you. your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer and he buries his head in the crook of your neck.
“ffuck, dar…”
“that’s a girl…keep goin’.” he urges you on, loving the way you cling to him.
it only takes a few more thrusts before your body is stiffening against him, your thighs squeezing around his, and a low groan rumbles from you. you’re gasping for air, chest heaving as you try to regain your breath, and the entire time daryl is pressing soft kisses against your head and praising you on how good you were.
when your breathing finally calms down and regulates, your head rested against daryl’s shoulder, you press a kiss to his neck, “thank you, my love.”
he pats you on the bum softly, “no need ta thank me.”
you pull away just enough to look at him now, “we should take breaks more often. though, next time it’ll be your turn.”
daryl smirks, the tiniest little tug pulling at his lips, “you’re on.”
⤷ ⋮ back to masterlist ⋮ join my taglist ⋮ blog rules
Summary: Sneaking around with your secret relationship with Daryl proves harder and harder with each passing day. It wasn't that you were ashamed or embarrassed of each other - you just didn't want the others knowing that part of your lives when so much was already in the open. However, after a particularly rough night and awkward post-morning, the cat's out of the bag. But not in the way you'd hoped.
warnings: Sex injury, suggestive dialogue, smut flashbacks, graphic smut (blowjob, m!receiving), injury, swearing, probably. Kenny is an antagonist character I made up, which is basically a prob lol.
You woke to warmth. Not just the kind that came from the scratchy blanket tangled halfway down the bed, but the kind that breathed against your bare skin, slow and steady. Daryl’s arm was slung low across your waist, rough fingertips ghosting over your stomach in lazy, unconscious strokes, his breath brushing the curve of your shoulder. His leg was half-draped over yours, anchoring you to the mattress like he didn’t trust you not to up and leave.
The guard tower wasn’t exactly luxury living, but it had two things you both craved more than a decent mattress—privacy and a lock. After three days of him being gone on a hunting run, privacy had become very necessary.
Your thighs ached. So did your hips. And your voice, judging by the way it cracked the second you tried to clear your throat. Jesus.
You barely managed to blink your eyes open before Daryl stirred behind you, his mouth pressing sleepily to your shoulder blade, then lower—across your spine, trailing kisses like breadcrumbs. You shivered.
“Mornin’,” he rasped, voice all gravel, the low drawl rumbling through your spine as his hand slid up under the blanket to cup your breast—slow, possessive, and so damn familiar it sent a shiver down your aching thighs.
His thumb dragged over your nipple, coaxing it to a hard peak with infuriating gentleness. You sucked in a breath, your body twitching under his as his knee slid between your legs like muscle memory, his hips already starting that lazy grind against your ass.
“Daryl—” your voice broke off in a strained gasp as his teeth found your shoulder, biting down just enough to make your hips jerk. “Oh, fuck—baby…”
He groaned into your skin, rolling his hips again, slower this time, deeper. “One more time, cmon…”
You didn’t have the heart to stop him at first. The heat in your stomach lit fast—your body wanted him, wanted to forget how sore you were and let him take you again just because it felt so good to be under him, with him.
But your thighs trembled, already overworked, and there was a dull, nagging throb in your hip from how hard you’d gripped him last night—maybe from when he’d half-dragged you back up the wall after you’d collapsed around his fingers, begging for more.
“Daryl,” you rasped again, twisting to catch his face with your hand. His eyes were hazy, already half-lost in the feel of you, pupils blown wide as he kissed a slow line down your neck. “I can’t baby—I’m too sore.”
He froze mid-motion, forehead resting against your shoulder, panting quietly. You felt the exact moment guilt settled over him like a wet blanket.
“Shit,” he muttered again, softer this time. “Sorry. Didn’t mean—I thought…”
“You thought right,” you said with a breathless, teasing smile. “I want to. I just physically can’t.”
His face flushed as he leaned up, cupping your jaw to kiss you—slow, apologetic, worshipful. “M’sorry. Just—got home and you were already waitin’ in bed, lookin’ at me like that…”
“I was naked,” you reminded him, laughing weakly.
“Exactly.” He kissed your cheek. “What was I supposed to do? Be a gentleman?”
You laughed again, softer, eyes fluttering shut as he kissed down your chest, nosing at the curve of your breast like he wasn’t ready to let go of the idea just yet.
You turned your head just enough to catch his guilty expression. “Don’t apologize,” you rasped, still half-smiling. “Just… maybe gimme a day to re-learn how to walk.”
You gazed at him then; his hair was a mess—flattened on one side, sticking up on the other, the kind of disaster only deep sleep (and other activities) could make. Yours… probably matched. Longer, wilder, and currently hiding most of your face when you peeked up at him.
“I really thought we were gonna break that bed frame.”
“We did.” He grinned into your skin. “You didn’t hear it snap when I—?”
“Oh my god.”
“Yeah.” He pressed another kiss between your breasts, slow and warm. “Totally worth it.”
His voice softened then, the humor fading just slightly. His lips brushed over the faint bruises he’d left on your ribs, fingertips moving with featherlight reverence like he could soothe the ache from the outside. “You really hurtin’?”
“I feel like I got hit by a truck,” you murmured, combing your fingers through his tangled hair. “A very sexy, grunting truck that doesn’t believe in pacing himself.”
He snorted, the sound muffled against your belly. “Told ya I missed ya.”
“I missed you too,” you said, threading both hands into his hair and tugging gently to guide him back up. “But I swear, if you even look at me with that face right now, I’ll kick you in the balls to even the score.”
He grinned, and gave you one last, lingering kiss—soft and slow, all lips and breath and whispered apology—before finally pulling back and reaching for your shirt. “Alright, alright. You win. But tonight?”
“Tonight I sleep.” You narrowed your eyes at him. “Don’t even think about waking me up with your dick.”
His expression was utterly unrepentant. “I’ll be gentle.”
“You never are.”
“Takes one ta know one,” he muttered against your skin. “I ain’t never seen you like that. Was like you were tryna kill me last night.”
“I think we both tried to kill each other,” you murmured back. “Four times.”
“Five times,” he corrected. “You don’t remember the time where you bit me?”
You blinked, confused. “Bit you?”
He leaned up, pulling his hair back with one hand to reveal a faint purpling crescent just under his jaw. You stared at it.
“I don’t remember that.”
“Oh, I do,” he said with a crooked grin.
You groaned, burying your face into the pillow. “Oh my god I’m so sorry.”
“S’fine,” he said grinning.
Faint now—barely a shadow of purple—but when his fingers brushed that mark, fresh out of bed and still hazed in the best possible way, the memory hit like a fuckin’ freight train.
He could still feel it. The pressure of your teeth sinking into that tender spot where his neck met his shoulder. Not sharp. Not cruel. Just desperate.
You didn’t mean to. You were barely there.
One minute he’d had you on your stomach, cheek pressed into the pillow, hands curled into the sheets like they were the only things keeping you tethered. He was over you, in you, grinding so deep and slow it was less a thrust and more a claiming—rhythmic, relentless. Sweat dripping off his skin onto yours. His thighs snug to the backs of yours, his hand gripping your hip so tight his knuckles ached the next morning.
Your body was boneless, trembling, oversensitive from everything he’d already done to you. He’d taken his time—fingers, mouth, words. Wrecked you soft first. Had you sobbing into his chest with nothing but a hand between your legs and his voice in your ear telling you how good you were, how sweet you tasted, how long he was gonna take his time tonight.
And then he’d flipped you.
And then he sank into you.
He hadn’t even meant to go that deep. But your hips arched into it, seeking more without words. Your mouth had fallen open in a soundless moan. Your hands fluttered—reaching for him, for the pillow, for anything—but settling on nothing. It was like your body couldn’t decide what to hold onto because it was too busy falling apart.
You didn’t say his name. You whimpered it.
And he’d lost it.
“Yeah, baby,” he’d growled into your hair, the tip of his nose dragging along your scalp. “That’s it. Doin’ so good. Attagirl.”
Your only answer was a sob. Not from pain. From need.
And then it happened.
Your head tilted. Just barely.
And your mouth latched onto the side of his neck.
Not hard. Not deep. Just enough to bite. To mark him. To hold onto something solid while your brain turned to static.
It startled him. For half a second, he paused—not his hips, not the thrust—but in his mind. That flicker of shock. Of fuck.
But then he groaned. Deep in his throat. Low.
Because it was you. Biting him like that. Because you were so far gone, so soaked and soft and open for him, that you needed your teeth to ground yourself.
And he couldn’t stop.
Wouldn’t stop.
Your cunt clenched around him like a goddamn vice and he drove into it like he was trying to become part of you. His hand slid up to the base of your neck, not to push you away, but to hold you there. Keep you close. Keep you biting.
You moaned against his skin, mouth still open, teeth still sunk into him like you didn’t even realize what you were doing—like it was just instinct. Just need.
His rhythm picked up. Harsher. Filthier. The slap of skin, the creak of the mattress, your muffled cries against his neck.
“You want it that bad?” he’d rasped, eyes shut, trying to keep himself from blowing then and there. “That gone already, huh baby?”
You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t do anything but bite down again, just a little tighter, and whimper something that didn’t even sound like language.
He felt you break around him right there.
Felt the way your whole body tensed. The way you gasped against his neck. The way your walls fluttered around his cock like your body was trying to keep him, pull him deeper, own him.
It undid him.
He buried himself to the hilt, groaning your name into your shoulder, chest caving in with the force of it. It was one of those orgasms that left him shaking—like his body didn’t know how to hold itself up anymore. It felt like it went on forever, the way he kept filling you—
“Daryl?” you mumbled, voice raw and sleep-rough, laced with that hoarse rasp that hadn’t quite left since last night. “You good?”
He flinched, blinking hard—ripped clean out of the memory, the phantom feel of your teeth still tingling beneath his skin. His hand dropped immediately, and he turned slightly, eyes darting anywhere but your bare, tangled figure behind him.
“Yeah. M’fine,” he muttered, clearing his throat a little too fast, a little too loud, like that’d somehow cover up the very obvious problem still tenting the blanket.
You stirred against the sheets, shifting slow and ginger like every muscle ached. “Where’re my clothes?” you croaked, trying to sit up before groaning and falling flat again. “Oh my god. I can’t feel my spine.”
Daryl still couldn’t look at you directly. Not yet. Not while his dick was throbbing against the fabric like it had plans.
Your eyes fluttered open, searching blearily for him. “Daryl?”
He glanced toward the window to avoid the sight of your completely naked body spread out like a goddamn painting—and that’s when he saw it.
Your bra.
Swaying gently from where it had somehow ended up hooked on the balcony railing, one strap dangling out into the open air like it was waving good morning to the world.
He stared at it.
Then blinked.
Then let out the quietest “shit” under his breath.
“What?” you asked, brow furrowed.
He didn’t answer right away. Just scratched the back of his neck and nodded toward the open window. “Uh. Found it.”
You followed his line of sight.
Saw it.
And groaned like someone had punched you in the soul. “Oh no. Tell me that wasn’t out there all night.”
“Dunno,” he muttered, already moving toward the door. “Wind must’a caught it or somethin’…”
“Or you threw it,” you countered, burying your face into the pillow with a muffled scream. “Oh my god.”
He got up, throwing off the blanket and stepping out completely naked without a care in the world, grimacing slightly as the morning sun hit his bare chest. He grabbed the bra and yanked it off the railing like it had personally offended him, muttering, “Least it didn’t land in the fuckin’ tomato patch.”
You saw the moment his mind wandered. He paused there, bare back rising and falling with each deep breath, cock hard and heavy between his legs, bobbing faintly as he stood in the sun.
You watched him cross the tower, completely bare and unbothered, like the sunlight wasn’t striping every muscle of his back in gold. His steps were loose, fluid, still heavy from sleep and the kind of night that left you both bruised and breathless.
Your body ached—hips sore, thighs humming with the kind of exhaustion that edged into satisfaction—but your mouth; that still worked just fine.
And you moved.
Blanket slinking off your skin, your knees dragging slowly over the cold cement floor, crawling towards him like some animal, naked and hungry. You knelt behind him, letting the early light warm your back, and reached around him with both hands—one to steady yourself, the other to wrap around the base of him, hot and pulsing in your grip.
He twitched.
You leaned forward and kissed the tip. Soft, reverent. He didn’t say a word—just braced his palms on the railing and let you have him.
Your lips parted and you took him in slowly, dragging your tongue along the underside, feeling him swell in your mouth as his breath hitched, chest tightening. You worked him deeper, steady strokes of your hand matching the hollow of your cheeks, spit glistening as it slipped down your chin, but you didn’t care. You loved him like this—quiet and coiled, trembling under your touch, too focused on keeping still to remember how to breathe.
And then—
“Daryl?”
The voice struck like a match.
Rick. Of course.
You froze. Only for a second.
He didn’t.
His hands flexed hard on the railing. You felt every muscle in his thighs tense, the sharp pull of his stomach, the way his cock jumped against your tongue.
But he didn’t push you away.
“Yeah?” His voice cracked and he coughed, tried again. “Y-Yeah?”
You didn’t stop. You licked a stripe from base to tip, then sealed your mouth around him again and sucked slow, just to see if he’d twitch. He did.
“What’re you doin’ up there?” Rick called. “Ain’t your shift.”
Daryl’s jaw clenched. You could see it even from below. One hand stayed planted on the railing. The other dropped down to your head, fingers threading into your hair, not to guide you—just to ground himself. You weren’t sure if he was about to come or pass out.
“Laundry,” he said gruffly. “Flew up here.”
You grinned around him. He could feel it.
There was a long beat of silence.
You slid down further, taking him deeper. Your nose bumped his skin, your tongue pressed firm and flat, your hand twisting in rhythm just below your mouth.
“I’m fine,” Daryl bit out, throat straining. “Hot up here. Sun’s right on the damn glass.”
You moaned, low and thick, letting the vibration hit the base of his cock like a shockwave.
His breath stuttered. His hips jolted forward.
And you felt it—the shift.
That sharp tremble that raced up his legs, through his stomach, into his hands. He was close. Fighting it. Losing.
Rick’s voice droned on in the background, something about the southern fence line, something about wood supplies, but Daryl wasn’t listening. Couldn’t.
His grip in your hair tightened—not rough, just desperate. His body hovered on the edge, every muscle locked down, trying to stay still while his cock twitched in your throat.
And then—
Rick turned. Walked away. His boots echoed down the pavement. The sound faded.
Gone. Finally.
And Daryl broke.
He came with a groan that shook loose from his chest like it had been trapped there, hips jerking forward as his release spilled hot and fast down your throat. You took all of it—held him deep, swallowed hard, one hand still moving, coaxing every last twitch from him until he was sagging against the balcony like it was the only thing holding him up.
His breath heaved in ragged gasps, body gleaming with sweat, legs shaking.
You pulled off him with a slick pop, wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, and kissed the sharp jut of his hip.
He looked down at you like he couldn’t decide whether to collapse or kiss you stupid.
You were already smiling.
Still on your knees. Still wrecked from the night before. But pleased. So fucking pleased.
You arched a brow. “Still hot up here?”
He swallowed thickly. “You’re an evil woman.”
You got up, snatched the bra from him, feeling his eyes on you as you walked away. “That’s why ya love me.”
He mumbled in response, something in between a a hum of agreement and ‘shut up’.
He gave you an exasperated look before shaking his head. You just sucked him off and you're acting like it's just another Tuesday?
"It is Tuesday," you said, still smirking.
Had he said that out loud!?
“We didn’t sleep,” he said with a shrug, tugging his pants on. “Ain’t my fault.”
“You’re the one who kept saying ‘just one more time.’”
“Yeah, well…” He looked down at you and gave the softest smile, all warm and wrecked and adoring. “I missed ya.”
You stared up at him for a long second, eyes soft, before reaching out and curling your fingers around his wrist. “I missed you too, Dixon. Just… maybe tonight we try sleep instead of cardio?”
“No promises,” he muttered, bending to kiss you once more—slow, sweet, and maddeningly deep.
He bent to grab his shirt from the chair, the morning light catching the planes of his back — and your breath caught mid-inhale.
“Oh… my god.”
He half-turned, brows drawing together, but you were already moving.
“Turn around,” you murmured, low but firm, your hands already finding his hips and guiding him to face away from you.
The sight made your stomach tighten — angry red lines raked across the breadth of his back, some shallow, some deeper, all raw against his skin, with the faintest shadow of a bite mark blooming at the base of his neck. You stepped in close, the heat radiating off him soaking into your bare skin, your palms smoothing over his sides before trailing up his back, fingertips skimming the raised welts like maybe your touch could erase them.
“Baby… oh my god, does that not hurt?” The words came out soft, almost guilty, your hands still roaming over his skin like you were cataloging every mark.
“Ain’t nothin’,” he said with a shrug, but that casual dismissal only made your chest tighten more.
“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, stepping around to face him fully. Your hands slid up his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat under your palms, before you hid your face behind them. “I didn’t even realize I—god, that’s embarrassing.”
Before you could retreat, his larger hands closed gently around your wrists, pulling them down until your face was bare to him again. One hand lingered, cradling your jaw, his thumb stroking along your cheek. “Ain’t nothin’,” he repeated, quieter now, like he wanted you to believe it.
You huffed, half-guilty, half-bewildered. “Why didn’t you stop me?”
His other hand slid from your wrist to your hip, holding you close enough that the warmth of his bare chest pressed against yours. “Didn’t wanna,” he muttered, eyes darting away.
Your brows lifted.
“Not ‘cause it hurt—” he rushed to add, gaze skimming over your shoulder, “just… means you were feelin’ good.”
A slow smirk tugged at your mouth, and your hands smoothed up into his hair for just a second before you pulled away toward the shelf.
“Where you goin’?” he asked, following you with his eyes.
“Still getting the aloe,” you tossed over your shoulder.
He scoffed under his breath, but didn’t move — and you caught the faintest hint of a smile, like he wouldn’t mind if you came back and fussed over him some more.
⸻
The midday sun beat down hard against the metal fence as sweat slipped past your temples, soaking into the collar of your shirt. The walkers had been pressing harder against the perimeter lately, enough that the mesh was starting to bend inward, groaning under the weight of too many rotting bodies with just enough instinct left to keep pushing. Reinforcements were long overdue, so the plan now was brute force—wedging thick wooden beams against the metal at key points to keep the wall from collapsing entirely.
“Kenny,” Daryl grunted, his shoulder wedged up beneath the weight of the log, “if you drop this damn thing, I swear—”
“I’m not gonna drop it,” Kenny shot back, clearly straining. “This thing weighs more than a truck.”
“Then maybe you should’ve stayed with the tomato plants,” you muttered as you crouched low, ducking beneath the beam. “Hold it steady—I gotta mark where we need to dig.”
“Yeah, yeah, just make it quick,” Kenny puffed, the whites of his knuckles visible as he shifted his grip.
You dropped to lie down on your back in the dirt, fingers dragging through the dry soil as you carved out a rough guide with the blade of your knife. Daryl’s boot was inches from your head, the edge of his shirt hiked up just enough to expose the shallow curve of his lower back—and the faint red streaks etched into the skin there. Your scratches. Last night’s scratches.
And then there was also the very noticeable bite mark which he had tied a bandana around, which had now shifted to reveal it.
Kenny’s eyes landed on them.
The bite. The scratches.
And then everything went to hell.
“Holy shit—is that a bite?” he barked, his voice slicing through the air like a gunshot.
You didn’t even have time to react. The beam jerked violently in his grip, and before Daryl could rebalance it, the weight tipped sideways—crashing down hard onto your ribcage.
The sound that tore out of you wasn’t quite a scream—it was a crack, and then a wheezing grunt as the air got knocked clean out of your lungs. You folded instantly, body trapped awkwardly beneath the log, head lolling back into the dirt as pain shot like lightning in your torso.
“Shit!” Daryl bellowed, his voice already ragged with fury. “Get it off her!”
A blur of boots surrounded you—Rick, Maggie, Tyreese—all rushing to help. Hands grabbed the beam and heaved, straining against the weight until it finally lifted just enough. Daryl dropped to his knees and yanked you free, cradling your body to his chest like it weighed nothing, like you were made of feathers instead of broken bones.
Kenny staggered backwards, pale and jittery, eyes locked on Daryl. “I—I saw scratches, man! Guys, he's got scratches and a bite!”
“You dropped it on her—’cause of that?” Daryl’s voice was pure fire now, a sharp growl ripping from his throat as he lunged.
Kenny stumbled, tripping over his own feet. “I didn’t mean to—!”
“Daryl!” Rick barked, intercepting just in time, shoving a firm arm across Daryl’s chest before he could close the distance. “That’s enough! Where’d the scratches and the bite come from?”
Everyone froze. All eyes were on him.
Daryl’s jaw was clenched so tight the tendons in his neck stood out, his hands flexing at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them now that he wasn’t throttling someone.
You sucked in a shallow breath from the dirt, ribs screaming, and rasped out, “It was me, alright?”
Confusion rippled through the group.
You forced yourself upright with a grimace, brushing Daryl’s hand off as you tried to sit but failing miserably. You collapsed halfway again, coughing, and Daryl was immediately back beside you, kneeling so close his thigh pressed against your hip.
His voice dropped to that soft gravel only you ever seemed to get. “Hey. You good? Look at me.”
You turned your face toward the sound, your expression pinched but dry-eyed. “Might’ve cracked a rib,” you muttered, only half-joking. “Feels like something’s doing jazz hands in my lung.”
His hand cradled the back of your head gently, fingers weaving into your hair as his thumb brushed along your cheekbone, eyes scanning your face like he needed to memorise every twitch and wince.
“Lemme see,” he murmured, already tugging your shirt up slowly, carefully, as if touching too fast might break you further.
The collective silence behind you stretched long. You were aware of every set of eyes watching as Daryl pushed your shirt up to reveal the angry red welt blooming across your side, his palm skimming up the bare skin of your waist to brace you steady while he looked.
And that was the moment it all clicked—for everyone.
Daryl’s hand was on your bare skin, thumb moving slowly, reverently over the rising bruise like he could soothe it just by touch. The way he held you—tender, intimate, like someone he loved—left no room for confusion.
You caught Rick’s glance toward Maggie, the slight raise of her eyebrows, and Tyreese's shuffling.
Daryl didn’t care.
“You should’ve stayed back,” he muttered, still crouched beside you, still holding your shirt like he hadn’t noticed half your stomach was on display. “Told ya I’d do the damn marking.”
“Yeah, well.” You winced, leaning into his touch. “Didn’t wanna make Kenny feel useless.”
“Think he managed that all on his own.”
“Still gonna punch him?” you asked, breathless but smirking through it.
Daryl’s jaw flexed, his voice low and flat. “Later. Let’s get ya to Hershel.”
Before you could protest, his arm slid around your waist, hauling you up from the dirt like you were weightless. His palm stayed warm and steady at your side, guiding you away without so much as a glance over his shoulder.
The three still by the fence just stared at Kenny.
“What?” Kenny said, holding his hands up. “Hey, how was I supposed to know those were not walker scratches?!”
“Because he got them while he was in the watch tower, dumbass,” Rick muttered.
"But the bite-"
"He would have gotten a fever by now," said Maggie.
Kenny blinked, then his eyebrows shot up like the penny had just dropped. “Ohhh,” he said slowly, a grin spreading. “Ohhh. So that’s what that was. Damn, Dixon—”
From up ahead, without turning around, Daryl growled, “Shut up, Kenny.”
You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing, leaning a little heavier into Daryl’s side. “Guess the secret’s out,” you murmured.
“Uh-huh,” he muttered, but his hand on your hip didn’t loosen one bit.
heyy dear, can you write some fluff with daryl and gf reader where glenn gets one of those polaroid cameras and start taking pictures of everyone at the prison, and when he checked the photos he noticed that daryl is lovingly gazing at reader in all the photos they appear together? even when glenn or carol starts teasing daryl about it he still ask glenn if he can keep them🥰
Picture perfect
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x fem!reader
Masterlist | Who am i? | REQUESTS ARE OPEN!
a/n: here goes another extra fic this week. I swear it won't always be like this but i have far too much free time and i don't know what else to do with myself.
Genre: Fluff
Warnings: none.
Era: Season 4
Word count: 0.9k
“You’re gonna run out of Polaroids,” Carol said with a smirk, arms crossed as she leaned over Glenn, who was hunched at a table like it was a science project.
He didn’t look up, just grinned. “Already did. Totally worth it, though…look at this.”
He fanned out a handful of glossy squares, all slightly curled and sun-warmed. Carol leaned in, her expression curious until she saw it. You and Daryl, in nearly every shot but the focus wasn’t on the two of you smiling. In most, you were doing something completely ordinary…laughing with Maggie, cleaning your knife or merely walking next to the others, but in every single one, Daryl was looking at you, really looking. Unfiltered, soft-eyed and completely unaware of the camera. Sometimes he was in the background, sometimes next to you but never not watching.
Carol blinked and looked up. “What am I supposed to be seeing here?”
Glenn smirked like a kid holding a secret. “Blackmail, Carol, gold-tier. I'm talking ‘Dixon blushing’ level ammo.”
Carol laughed. “Oh, no. You don’t wanna play that game, Glenn.”
“Oh but I do. He stole my candy bar last week, this is divine justice.”
Despite her warnings, when Daryl finally rode back from his run that afternoon, Glenn was already posted up by the third gate like he was waiting to serve papers.
Daryl climbed off his bike with dust and grime smudging his neck and arms and his crossbow still strapped to his back. He dropped his bag onto the seat and looked around, automatically searching for you.
“Looking for someone?” Glenn teased, a grin stretching on his face.
Daryl scowled. “You know where she’s at?”
“Depends. How bad do you want to know?” He paused. “That hatchet you got there’s pretty sweet,” Glenn said with a sly grin, nodding at the weapon strapped to Daryl’s bike.
Daryl squinted, suspicious. “Ain’t for you.”
“It is now,” Glenn smirked, pulling a single photo from his pocket like it was top-secret intel. He glanced around dramatically before flashing it.
The archer looked down at it, then let out a low scoff, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Think she dun know I look at’er like tha’?” he muttered, tapping two fingers against Glenn’s temple once, snatched the photo and then, thwap!, he flicked Glenn’s ear, muttering “You creepin’ on me now?”
“Ow! What was that for?!” Glenn hissed. “You’re the one gazin’ like a lovesick outlaw.”
“Ain’t news to her, dumbass. Now, move.”
Grumbling, Glenn backed off but a few steps away, Daryl’s voice called after him. “Hey, Glenn!”
He turned. Daryl just stretched his hand out and Glenn sighed like he’d just lost a poker game, face falling. “All of them?”
“All of ’em.”
A second later, a stack of photos landed in Daryl’s palm, photos he quickly tucked into his bag without another word, meaning to look at them more closely later.
The sun warmed your skin as you approached the scene, steps slowing as Glenn passed you on his way back inside, rubbing his ear with a crooked smile.
“Hey…” you said, brow raised.
“Hey,” he muttered, shooting a sheepish glance over his shoulder at Daryl. “He’s all yours.”
“Right...” You frowned confused, then turned toward Daryl with that big smile he always pulled out of you. “Hi, handsome.”
He glanced up, immediately straightening a little, lips twitching upwards as he hid something behind his back. “Hey.”
“What was that about?” you asked, motioning toward the way Glenn had gone.
Daryl shrugged. “Kid’s troubled.”
“And you’re not?”
He smirked, still holding something behind him. “Maybe, but ya like it.”
“That I do,” you grinned, stepping closer. “Now, what are you hiding?”
With a little grunt, Daryl pulled two leather-bound journals from behind his back. One was your favorite color and unsurprisingly, it made the gift all the more meaningful. Your jaw dropped.
“Are you gonna start journaling with me?” You asked excitedly, taking them both from his hands.
Daryl scratched the back of his neck, glancing down like it was no big deal. “Kinda tired of watchin’ ya do it alone before bed. Even started wonderin’ if ya got a secret crush or somethin’.”
You wrapped your arms around him, laughing softly into his shoulder. “It’s you, so not very secret.” He hugged you back then, gentle and a little awkward, like always…exactly in that way you loved.
“Ya gotta teach me what t’ write, tho’, or it’s gonna turn into sum’ creepy book ‘bout ya.”
You pulled back with a giggle. “Doesn’t sound awful”
“Really doesn’t.” He reached out to gently squeeze your side, making you yelp and bat his hand away, but the more you looked at him, the more you could tell he was still hiding something.
“So…what’d Glenn give you?” you asked, poking at his bag with the journals.
Daryl hesitated for a beat before pulling out the photos, thumbing through them like they were old keepsakes. “Journaling material, ‘cause he’s nice like tha’” he said.
“The…troubled kid” You repeated in the same tone he had used.
“Mhm, the one.” He pointed at the pictures now in your hands, “For scrapbookin’. That wha’ ya call it?”
You smiled and nudged his arm teasingly. “Look at you, already learning and collecting.”
“Kinda fell into my hands,” he mumbled.
“Uh huh. I’m sure it did.”
You watched him a second longer, your heart fluttering as he carefully took the photos and tucked them into his vest’s inner pocket, like they were precious.
“You always look at me like that?” you asked, pointing at where the pictures were now carefully kept.
He shrugged looking away, ears already a faint pink. “Nah. Just when yer breathin’.”
summary. after escaping terminus, you hold up shelter in the church, and daryl realises that abraham has interest in you. he says nothing, knowing that you can more than take care of yourself (1.7k)
warnings. mentions of death and sex, reader smoking, abraham trying to flirt with reader, amused daryl, like one swear word, established relationship
divider credits. @cafekitsune
It was a particularly warm day, leaving each person sweltering, including the priest Gabriel whom had held no choice in offering shelter in the church he had served before the outbreak and continued to maintain. The lot of you were exhausted, Terminus having exhausted much will and motivation from each of your persons, including the new survivors that had joined along the way; Rosita, Abraham and Eugene. Daryl found you seated outside, sat there lulling in the anguish that braced tension in each muscle of your body.
“That woman’s something.” Abraham told him as if he didn’t already know that fact, and Daryl grunted in reply, aware of how the redhead’s tired gaze trailed across your frame with interest - he had thought that Rosita was the last woman on earth, and he had certainly been proven incorrect on that matter. The archer did not like the way that the newcomer was ogling at you as you nursed a cigarette between your lips, one that you had found in the home of religion along with a lighter, stashed away beneath a pew, as though the sin was hidden from god himself. Someone must have really needed a breather after church.
The smoke wafted around you in relieving waves, contorting around your silhouette as a grey outline, the distinct scent imbedding itself within both your hair and the articles that you were clothed in, the strong tang despite being disliked by many others brought you a sense of comfort that seemed impossible to inhale. Yet you had found something to soothe your energised nerves, to momentarily distract you from the turmoil that contagiously followed any life that remained. You were oblivious to the men watching you by the steps, a machete resting upon the placement of your lap in the case that any walkers appeared.
It was almost peaceful, if you thought not of the forlorn past and those that hadn’t made it… those that still were missing. You held onto the cigarette tighter, pursing your lips as you exhaled a cloudy spill of smoke, watching intently as it danced in the air. Abraham heavily shifted his weight between each foot, as though he were preparing for something, and Daryl could only imagine what that would be. He squinted at the red haired man, as he sturdied a hand on his hip, the other brushing through his facial hair. “I’m gonna talk to her.” There hadn’t been much time for forming a bond with each of the new people, other than enduring the torturous confines of Terminus together, and it appeared that the large man was taking a shot.
Daryl quirked a thin brow at the motives that no doubt rested beyond Abraham’s intentions, though he chose not to get in his way, instead having faith and having witnessed it multiple times first hand that you had the ability to take care of yourself. And so Abraham moved onwards, towards you, with a confidence that you would no doubt deflate. It was what you did, you pushed those away that held no respect for your boundaries, hell, even Daryl knew when to give you time to yourself. Sometimes a moment alone was all that was needed to refresh yourself, to assert a newfound thought that drove you to keep pushing you in the direction of survival.
It took great strength for Daryl not to grab the man and make him reassess his prerogative; you were enjoying the hard to find silence that surrounded you, and the archer was not going to be the one to make a scene and disrupt the bubble of solace that you lulled in. That alone was a death wish for anyone,no matter who they were, and so he idly surveyed in your direction as you allowed your knee to jog up and down as you rested on the ground, breathing in the fumes of the cigarette without any regard.
“Hey pretty lady.” The sound of a voice made your head snap upwards, hand instantly finding the handle of your weapon that had taken many a life. It had not only been walkers that had received the sharp impact of the machete, humans had too when they had infiltrated the prison, breaking through the walls and destroying any aspect of security that had once been. With a glare in your eyes, you found the face of Abraham smiling down at you, and you had the impulse to scoff. “Those things will kill you.” He nodded towards the rolled up tobacco that was in its most popular form, the end singing as each second it grew shorter, wilting away from the flame that had touched its end.
“Better this than something or someone else.” To emphasise your point, you inhaled from it once more, squashing the lacklustre stub beneath the sole of your boot. “Did you want something?” The tone of your voice was tired, and tired it was for good reason. All of your energy had been exerted into getting this far and surviving this long. It seemed to deflate the arrogant confidence that Abraham had previously had when he stalked in your direction, and that was exactly what you wanted - for him and everyone else to leave you alone for a moment. Perhaps it was too much an ask for some people, you thought to yourself, releasing an audible sigh.
Your attitude had not been expected by Abraham, you spoke rashly and with a hardening edge, but he found himself to be fond of it. Not many people made their desires clear in the old world, but he expected that you had. “Wanted to talk to you, get to know you.” He appeared friendly, though you noticed his self serving motives as his round eyes sketched your frame with interest. The most you knew about each other was the basics, that the prison had fallen prompting him to meet Glenn, and of course your name. That was the bare minimum, and he wished to be filled with all the information that you would only share with another that you poised an intimate relation with.
“Ain’t much to it.” You nonchalantly shrugged, not understanding why you out of all others had peaked his interest, especially considering that Rosita and he seemed to be a thing, though you had not scraped for the details, caring not for the bond that others had with themselves. “So if you think that you can get in my pants, think again. I ain’t interested.” Stupidity was not a personality trait that was known to your mind, and your blunt words caught the man off guard, even though it had been blatantly obvious of his idea in disturbing you. You did not get up, you remained seated on the short grass, hugging your knees as you thought internally of where else you may find some more cigarettes, or something that could bring you a distraction that did not leave you to ponder on those that were now deceased or the whereabouts of Beth Greene.
“Why aren’t you interested?” Abraham did not mean the question to pressure you, he was genuinely curious. From his experience, sleeping with another proved to be something that lost focus to the present reality, the climate of looming death peering around every corner. “Don’t you not want to think for a while?” That was what you had been trying to do prior to his presence, but you bit back your temper, not wishing for it to explode. Even if you had not been in a relationship that Abraham clearly had no clue of, you wouldn’t sway entertainment in his direction. Things were tough enough already without pissing someone off, and whilst you did not know Rosita, doing that to another woman that had feelings for the man that she laid beside was practically traitorous.
“I don’t think your dick would satisfy me.” You jabbed as a reply, smirking as a scoff retorted from the red haired man, and he reluctantly walked back to the entrance of the church. He frowned when he saw the cocky expression on Daryl’s face, not understanding why it had appeared. It was acknowledged that the two of you had been companions for a time alongside a handful of others, yet he could not exasperatedly reason for the amused glint that shone from Daryl’s eyes. His interaction hadn’t gone as planned, and Abraham thought of the answers as to why. Maybe you were celibate, saving yourself for someone that had such morals that reflected the same, or you were not into his gender. He was going to pry at the archer until he was given an explanation.
“She wasn’t interested.” He stated to Daryl, and the archer quirked an all knowing brow,a short laugh expelling from his lips. “You know why?” Oh he did, and he could not wait for the expression that would fall upon Abraham’s face, it would no doubt be priceless. He hadn’t intervened, aware that you would send him running, possibly telling him to piss off or something else insulting. Within the prison other men had attempted to seek your company, whether that be for a one night stand or a steady relationship, and you had treated them all the same. It had taken him some time to realise that he was exactly what you wanted, even during your relationship, and he wasn’t going to argue about the matter in disbelief, knowing how lucky he was to have a partner that had his back at all times, and was strong willed and able to look after themself. You were all of those things and more.
“She’s my woman.” It may have seemed almost objectifying to others if they did not know Daryl well enough, however there was affection that underlined his words, affection that could be heard to anyone listening. “An’ I didn’t warn ya b’cause I knew she would send ya packin’. Tha’s what she does to men that wanna get in her pants.” He noticed both the surprise and the slight embarrassment that had overtaken Abraham’s face, smirking at it. It was indeed a priceless sight. As the other man that had tried to seduced you walked around the church to find Eugene, trying to act as though his pride had not been wounded, Daryl remained where he stood, watching you, allowing you the momentary silence that you wished for, knowing that the quiet peace was rare to come by and you deserved to enjoy it whilst you could.
table of contents; established relationship, strong language, implications of assault, protective!daryl, hurt/comfort, soft!daryl (only with you), some fluff at the end
when your group settled into alexandria, which was once rick had finally deemed it safe and its people trustworthy, you resumed the domestic role you played before the world ended.
as did carol.
in all honesty, the pair of you never really abandoned your places as the mothers of the bunch, neither did lori when she was alive—though they were actually mothers, so it came naturally to them. but before maggie, you were the only other married woman in the group; so the duties of chef, laundrette, healer, moral compass, voice of reason—and the like—weren’t anything you hadn’t become accustomed to throughout your marriage to the. . . let’s say, untameable of the group.
and you loved it.
the normalcy of it. the familiarity.
the way that whilst you were vacuuming your new home and scrubbing last night’s dishes, the world was still falling apart beyond those red gates; yet if you were to wake up here after all these years, you’d be none the wiser.
it was almost perfect.
but not every resident welcomed you warmly.
rick had already had a run-in with pete anderson, alexandria’s doctor. quite simply, rick took a shining to pete’s wife who didn’t make an effort to rebuff his advances.
but since rick’s wife is dead and he’s yet to replace her, not that he isn’t trying (and with another man’s wife, no less) — pete’s sights settled on the next best thing.
and who better than the wife of rick’s best friend and second-in-command?
the clock ticks, the ceiling fan whirs, the house creaks against its earthy shrine, and here you sit.
the faucet drips, you sit.
the breeze curls against the windows. still, you sit.
your book remains open in your lap; you stopped reading it at least an hour ago. you kept rereading the same line anyway.
you swallow, it’s painful. your fingers brush your throat where a gnarly bruise blackens the skin, you wince.
but when the front door opens, you jump.
it’s only daryl, of course it is. it’s always daryl.
“hey,” he greets in his usual tired, a little rough, very raspy voice. he’s always tired after a day of hunting or scouting with aaron. “y’alright, babe?”
you hum a meek ‘mhmm’, head faced away from him.
you know he heard you. he hears everything.
with his boots still on, muddy and wet, he slings a rabbit—already skinned—onto the kitchen island.
two things that would usually earn him a word of warning, or at the very least a stern glare. but you don’t so much as bat an eye.
red flag number one.
“got dinner.” he tells you, gesturing to the little animal—dead on the counter.
he expects you to jump up and wax poetic about the importance of food hygiene and a sterile cooking environment.
you do nothing. “thank you, baby.”
daryl grunts. “uh-huh,” his thumbnail finds its way between his teeth, nibbled and gnawed, then he flicks his hair from his eyes. “whatcha do t’day?”
“not a lot.” you stretch your hoodie sleeves over your hands, then prop your cheek against your hand, conveniently shielding your face with your palm. “same old, really. did you and aaron find any survivors?”
“nah,” he frowns, fingers picking at the calluses on his hands. “just this lil’ guy.” he juts his chin at the rabbit, not that you’re looking at him to take notice.
you’re always so eager to welcome him home, hear about his time beyond the walls whilst you prepare supper, then tell him all about your day once he’s done.
but not tonight. that there is red flag number two.
“gonna tell me what’s up?” he asks, voice low. thin, even. like he’s afraid to hear your answer.
“i’m just tired.” you lie, pretending to scrub your eyes—just another excuse to conceal your injuries, something that doesn’t go amiss.
he sees everything, especially when it comes to you.
“i think i’ll head up to bed after i’ve made your dinner, i barely got a wink of sleep last night.”
you were fast asleep when he got up this morning. out cold, dead to the world as you snored softly with a faint smile on your face.
because even in sleep’s embrace, you’re happy. always happy.
the light of the group, the heart and soul that glues them together.
if you’d had a restless night, it would’ve woken him. daryl’s a light sleeper, but not you.
you’re lying.
and there goes red flag number three.
“ain’t gonna eat with me?” he asks, circling the kitchen until he’s in front of you.
you look away.
“i ate lunch pretty late, my own stupid fault.” you look down at your book, pretending to read.
he takes note that you’re on the first page, the one where the author pays tribute or dedicates the novel to a loved one. you never read those, you always skip to the first chapter like everyone else. no one reads the prologues—he never understood why authors bother to write them.
daryl clears his throat, chest tight. you shrink into yourself when he sits atop the coffee table, hands clasped. “hey,” he tilts his head, trying to catch a glimpse of your face. “look at me.”
you refuse, finally turning the page of your book. you skim over the words, not absorbing a single one of them.
“baby.” his hand, tanned and weathered, flattens over your page. “need ya to look at me.”
you blink, then ghost a finger over his knuckles—scarred, dry. you trace down to his wrist, then his forearm. he catches you with his other hand, holding yours within it. he gives it one squeeze, then circles his thumb over the back of it.
he taps it once, twice, thrice.
“i’ll sit here ‘til ya do.” he takes your book and places it on the table beside him. “then we’ll both go hungry ‘n sleepless.” he grips your other hand, comforting.
then he twists them to face palm-up and lifts your wrists to the light, the unmistakable markings of fingers that weren’t his revealing themselves in all their morbid glory. “fuck’s all this?”
his voice is low and gritty. lethal.
it’s not what he says, it’s the way he says it.
“daryl. . .”
“who?” he asks, lower. you almost don’t hear him.
you open your mouth, then close it again. each word that manages to surpass a thought dies on your tongue.
he goes stiller than stone.
“i was testing some lipstick shades but they were all a bit too bright—didn’t suit my complexion. they obviously left a stain.” you try to free your wrists but he holds them tighter. “. . .they’ll wash off.”
you don’t wear make-up.
“c’mon, then.” he stands, pulling you up with him.
“daryl—”
you struggle against him as he drags you toward the kitchen sink.
“wash ‘em off.” he finally lets go of you to turn the tap on.
you freeze, staring at the flow of water like it’s your first day on earth.
a finger hooks under your chin, gentle in its guidance. you allow him to finally look at you, tears immediately gathering in the wells of your eyes.
his stare hardens, blue eyes flitting like he’s picturing every possible scenario or reconstructing a crime scene.
“do nothing.” you whisper, placing your hand over his heart. it hammers against your palm like its trying to punch itself free. “we need this.” you motion around you. “we earned this.”
he scuffs a knuckle over the swell of your cheek, then the purplish blotch that cups your eye.
you grimace, he scowls.
“got lipstick on yer cheek, did ya?”
“please,” you take his face in your hands. “i’m okay.”
“take it off.” he grumbles, eyes now pinned to your hoodie.
“what—?”
“fuckin’ take if off.” he repeats, dark. firm.
you shudder, a fat bile rising into your throat. you’re not afraid of him, but of what he’ll do when he sees.
“ain’t gonna hurt ya,” he softens his voice. “just need to see.”
you know he’d never hurt you.
you take the hoodie off.
he looks. like, really looks. gently, as though you might snap, he lifts your arms. your ribs are bruised, as is your neck.
“name.” he gruffs.
“no.” you refuse.
his eyes find yours, permeating. “name.”
you huff out, hugging your arms to your middle. “pete.”
his jaw ticks, shoulders rigid like a board.
“but don’t do anything, please, stay here with me.”
you expect him to smash a plate or send his fist through the wall, but he does neither of those things. he cups your elbow, his other hand finding rest stop at your shoulder. “go upstairs.” he nods toward the staircase, expression dead like he feels nothing at all. you know it’s a front; that thing he does when he doesn’t want to frighten you. “i’ll meet ya up there.”
“daryl—”
“i’ll meet ya up there.” he persists, pressing you ahead of him by the small of your back.
“what’re you going to do?” you ask, turning at the step.
he gazes down at you, unreadable. masked.
you’ve seen that look before—you don’t need to hear him say it.
you head upstairs.
only once he’s heard the door to your shared bedroom close does he charge for the front door, snatching his crossbow from the porch on his way.
the moon is high in the sky when you hear the front door open and close upon someone’s arrival.
or more-so, their return.
it’s even higher by the time you feel the mattress dip, a welcome warmth embracing you.
“where’ve you been?” you ask, sleepily.
“where’d ya think?” he murmurs, huddling against you.
you reach over to flip the bedside lamp on and you both groan—you when you sit up, and he when light floods the room.
his knuckles are skinned, dried blood crusted around his nails. you peer over at the corner where he likes to discard his clothes, even though the laundry basket is right there.
his shirt is soiled where brownish blood sprays it, and you spot some rips and tears that weren’t there before, like there was a bit of a scuffle.
“is he alive?”
your questions hangs in the air for a moment.
“barely.” he finally answers, arm slung lazily over your lap.
“how bad did you—”
“don’t matter.” he husks, eyes closed. “he ain’t gonna bother ya again, so don’t worry ‘bout it.”
“can he even walk? or talk? does he even remember who he is?” you don’t deny he deserved it, but if the monroes catch wind of this, you’ll be out on your asses.
“he can walk.” he tells you, thumb massaging your tummy. “go to sleep.”
you lay yourself back with a sigh, your face and torso still on fire. “did he say anything about it?”
“made him admit it first.” daryl shrugs a little, hand flat like a paper weight on your lower belly. “wanted to see if he was a man at all.”
“and?”
“beat it out’a him eventually, but if he was a man he wouldn’t’ve touched ya in the fuckin’ first place.” he goes tense against you, like he’d been trying to force that part from his memory.
“well, thank you for letting him live.” you place your hands over his, a lighthearted inflection to your tone.
“didn’t wanna, but he’s got a woman n’ kids at home—even if they’d be better off. ‘sides, it would’a been a mercy. he’s gotta live with what he did n’ what came for him after he did it.”
you hum, rolling your head to the side so you’re facing him. as if feeling your gaze, he opens one eye, droopy and tired. “what else does he have to live with?”
a small smirk teases the corner of his mouth—one of satisfaction. “few broken bones n’ a busted lip.”
“he’ll tell deanna and reg.” you warn softly, tucking a stray of shaggy hair from his face.
“nah, told him if he did i wouldn’t be so forgivin’ next time.” his breathing slows as you comb your fingers through his hair, nails scraping soothingly against his scalp. “he’s a doctor, ain’t he? he’ll be fine.”
“i guess.”
“want ya to go see maggie or carol first thing, get yerself checked up.” his hand slides to give your hip a gentle squeeze, then returns to splay over your front.
you boop his nose in return and that same eye peels open to glare at you. “i’m fine, my ribs aren’t broken. just sore.”
“don’t care.” he grouches, hand lifting to point a finger at your face. “and these.”
“just cuts,” you catch his finger, then try to pinch it between your teeth. he snatches it away with a dry chuckle. “they’ll heal.”
“woman, just fuckin’ do it.” he insists, his tone jestful but still deadly serious.
you snort. “oh, i’m convinced!”
“damn right ya are.”
a knock at the front door disrupts you.
“ignore ‘em.” daryl grumbles, leaning over you to switch the light off.
“i know y’all are awake!” you hear a voice call up.
you frown. “is that rick?”
“yep.” daryl reaches up to close the window, then flops back down.
you wince. “daryl, careful.”
“sorry.”
“saw your light go out!” rick knocks again.
“go let him in.” you give daryl a nudge. “it might be about pete.”
“exactly.” he gripes.
“i’ll just keep knockin’!”
“you know he will.” you nudge him harder this time. “tell him the truth, he’ll be on our side.”
then the jarring sound of a nasally snore fills the room. he never snores.
“i know you’re faking.” you shake him. “daryl.”
the ‘snoring’ gets louder.
you purse your lips, then throw the covers off and kick your legs over the side. “making your wounded wife answer the door in the middle of the night.” you tut, tying your robe as loosely as you can. “unbelievable.”
his face meets the wrath of your pillow when you toss it at him, then you pad across the room. “coming!”
snowghoul
yousharknotpass
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