📟

20 - Somewhat reserved

[bucky-issues]

feral!daryl who has his eyes set on you the minute he walked into Alexandria, not creepily—just curious, observant.

feral!daryl who knows exactly when and where you were looking at him from, he knows when your eyes were on him.

feral!daryl who gifted you a dead possum and gutted it for you and left it on your porch as he watched in a distance to see you enjoying his gift.

feral!daryl who follows you to protect you once you started enjoying his company even though the alexandrians thought he was weird and off-putting.

feral!daryl who looks into your window at night, to see if you’re safely sleeping but instead he found you with your hands in between his legs moaning his name.

feral!daryl who runs into the woods and leaned against a tree as he desperately took his pants out to take out his fat hard cock after seeing you pleasure yourself with him on your mind. he would grunt and growl with nothing but you in his mind.

feral!daryl who starts sniffing you, your hair, your neck when you hug him, he would do it subtly—not in a way that it would seem weird because he was addicted to your scent.

feral!daryl who was so addicted in smelling you as he starts stealing your dirty panties, clothes, anything that would remind him of you.

feral!daryl who sniffed your panties every night, growling into the material as he pumped his cock, cumming to just your scent and your scent alone. now even the smell of your hair gets him hard.

feral!daryl who didn’t get scared when you caught him. instead he told you to run.

feral!daryl who hunted you down in alexandria, seeing your tracks easily for him to follow, almost like you wanted him to find you.

feral!daryl who found you and tied your hands behind your back as he pushed you against the tree because he knows how long you wanted him.

feral!daryl who would kneel, breathing in the musky scent of your pussy as you desperately begged him to do something.

feral!daryl who fucked you hard against the tree, keep grunting in your ear about how you were begging to be bred by him.

feral!daryl who would carry you back to your home taking care of you after he just fucked you so hard you could barely walk.

feral!daryl who would just sit there in between your legs watching the cum inside your pussy drip out because he knows he had marked you as his territory.

[kitty-grimes]

a knock at the door: chapter one

pairing: rick grimes x fem!reader

summary: you and rick work together at the grimes' family diner, keeping their beloved business alive in the same small town you both grew up in. after rick's dad suffers a stroke, rick has to learn how to run the diner by himself. one particularly stressful closing shift together might just be the start of something new between you and rick.

content: small town AU, no zombies AU, rick and reader are in their 20's, friends to lovers, co-workers to lovers, slowwwww burn.

warnings: references to a sick/ dying parent, mentions of someone having a stroke, fluff, flirting, unresolved tension, use of pet names (baby, honey, sweetheart, etc.) no use of y/n.

word count: 3.1k

author’s note: i finally found the courage to start posting my long fic! here is chapter one. i plan to post a new chapter weekly-ish! a HUGE thanks as always to @tinytownn for beta reading this and for being this fic's biggest fan. you are the bestestttt ever.

reblogs and comments always appreciated :3

Situated comfortably between the cash registers is an old radio softly playing music. The sun beams in through the rightmost window, warm on your skin as you reach forward to replace the last ketchup bottle.

Your Monday morning regular had just come in– a nice middle aged nurse that works in town. Every Monday without fail, she comes in at 5am– the minute you open up– ending her night shift at the hospital here at the diner. You two always joke about how you’re just starting her day as she’s finishing hers. She doesn’t even bother ordering anymore. As soon as you see her sit down, you shoot her a nod and a thumbs up before bursting through the double doors to the kitchen.

“Rick! The usual for Ms. Sheila please!” you say, multitasking. Annoyed, you dump last night’s coffee down the drain, then toss the soggy, gunked up filter into the garbage. The smell of stale coffee grounds hit your senses stronger than you would have liked. 

“What’s the matter with you?” Rick asks. 

“Nothin’, you just suck at closing up by yourself is all,” you say, smiling, but giving him just enough attitude to keep him on his toes (as you’d often liked to do). 

He groans, clearly exhausted from the back to back shifts. His hand tightly grips the back of his neck as he speaks to you. 

“Sorry ‘bout that… long night,” he sighs. You start to refill the coffee maker, scooping the fresh grounds into the container with a new filter, letting your mind wander as you do so. You get a good look at Rick for the first time this morning, and he looks like shit. He has dark circles under his eyes, hair sticking in all directions, where he was usually clean-shaven, he’s now scruffy and dark, and by the looks of it, he was wearing the same shirt and jeans from yesterday. 

Nothing was worse than a closing and opening shift back to back. The diner stays open until midnight and opens back up at 5am and the short turnaround was just miserable. 

Though, a lot of folks in town appreciate the late hours. After around 10pm, you usually only see a few local cops, some night shift workers on their ‘lunch’ break, and the occasional group of teens being out later than they should. 

While the late nights were admittedly slow and granted Rick enough time to rest his feet or shovel some food in his mouth, it was still exhausting. 

The diner is owned by Rick’s father, who up until very recently was running the place like the navy. He suffered a stroke about three and a half weeks ago and hasn’t made much improvement since. When Rick isn’t at the restaurant, he’s probably half-asleep in an uncomfortable chair in his dad’s hospital room. So suddenly, Rick– who was just the diner owner’s son, part line cook, part waiter–  was now in charge of both taking care of his dad full time and taking over the restaurant, also full time. The stress has begun to take a toll on Rick to say the least. 

You’d offered to help several times in the last few weeks, asking if he needed an extra hand with anything, and of course he declined. Not taking no for an answer, you brought a casserole to his house one weekend morning when you knew he’d be home. 

“Wanna make sure someone in this town is lookin’ out for you too, Rick,” you’d said. 

In hindsight, you feel a little bad for teasing him so early in the morning. But, in some ways you want to keep treating him like you usually would– maybe he’s tired of getting that same sorry, sympathetic look from everyone he sees. News spreads like wildfire in a town this small; everybody and their mom knew what the Grimes family was going through. And while the looks of concern and kind condolences from locals are well-intentioned, he doesn’t care to talk about it much with anyone. At least your teasing makes him crack a smile every now and then. 

Rick finishes plating up Ms. Sheila’s food: blueberry pancakes, no butter, with a side bacon. He slides it onto the pass through, ringing the bell to let you know it was ready. You’d been bent down below the counter on the other side of the pass, shoving some sugar packets in your little apron pocket to go refill a few tables that are running low– looks like that didn’t get done last night either. The chime of the bell shocks your still-sleepy-system. You shoot up too quickly, causing you to hit your head on the underside of the counter. Now, you’re really glaring at him. He looks at you with a tired, sly smirk.

“Food’s ready,” he winks at you. 

“Thank you, Rick, I had no idea,” you say sarcastically and force a smile back at him.

You take the plate in one hand, a fresh cup of coffee in the other, and walk over to Ms. Sheila in her booth. 

“Blueberry pancakes, no butter, and a side of bacon,” you set her plate down with a sincere smile, “and here’s your coffee ma’am.” 

“Thank you darlin’,” she says, her southern accent strong and sweet. 

“I think Rick gave you an extra piece of bacon, looks like he’s feeling nice this morning,” you strike up a conversation with her, as you usually do. 

“That’s awful sweet of him,” she says with that aforementioned sympathetic look, “how’s he doin’? How’s Mr. Grimes?” She refers to Rick’s dad, lowering her voice, speaking so only you can hear her now. 

You match her tone, “Oh, I think they’re holding up best they can,” you say, checking over your shoulder to make sure Rick isn’t listening in, “but I think Rick is running himself into the ground. I try to help every now and then, but I don’t want to overstep, y’know?” 

“I do, I do,” she says, finishing up a bite of her pancakes before speaking again, “just keep an eye on him, will ya? I worry about’im.” 

“I sure will,” you nod. You continue to talk to her from a distance as you refill the sugars on the surrounding tables.

“How was the hospital last night?” you ask.

“Nothin’ terrible, thankfully. Just lookin’ forward to gettin’ some shut eye here pretty soon.” Ms. Sheila lived a short drive up the road. You nod, telling her to enjoy her pancakes before making yourself busy elsewhere. 

You burst through the double doors again, nearly colliding with Rick this time, causing a splash of cold coffee to join the many stains on his dirty white t-shirt. 

“Shit- sorry, Rick,” you say, grabbing a dish towel and trying to wipe him off before the stain sets in. 

“You’re fine sweetheart just slow down, will ya? We’ve only got one customer in here right now, what’re you rushin’ around for?” You always blush a little at the nickname, even though you know it didn’t really mean anything. Terms of endearment are used very casually here in the south, but a girl can dream.  

“I’m just trying to get ahead before the rush- I didn’t grab enough sugars to refill all the tables, the utensils and napkins still need to be rolled up, and did you even count the cash last night? I’m about to ring Ms. Sheila up and-” Rick interrupts your rambling, all but shoving a fresh coffee mug into your hand. 

“Sit down, drink this, then get to work. How’s that sound?” Rick bargains with you. 

“Alright, fine. Can I at least count the cash while I’m drinking my coffee?” You bargain back. 

“Deal,” he says. In an attempt to avoid another spill, he opens the double doors for you this time, letting you out of the kitchen.

You take a seat in the booth closest to the cash register, taking a sip of your coffee as you begin to count the cash from yesterday. It’s perfectly sweetened. He remembered how I like my coffee? You think to yourself with a smile- black, no cream, with a packet and a half of honey. You’d only mentioned it once in passing and that was months ago. And, Rick didn’t usually make your coffee (because he knows you’re rather particular) but he took it upon himself this morning as a thank you for doing a bunch of catch-up on things he skipped over late last night.  

~~~

Morning turned to afternoon, all of the regulars providing their usual small talk and offering their condolences to Rick. You could tell he was starting to get sick of it. You understand people are trying to be kind, but they’re acting like Mr. Grimes is already dead. 

As the end of your shift approaches, you start to gather your things. With your bag lazily slung over your shoulder and your denim jacket tucked under your arm, you head out the back door to find Rick outside smoking a cigarette. 

“Since when do you smoke?” you jest. 

“Since three weeks ago I guess,” he throws a forced smile in your direction, angling the open pack of cigs toward you– an offer. 

“Why not,” you shrug, taking a cigarette from the box and allowing him to light it for you. 

The two of you wordlessly smoke together for a few minutes, the silence anything but awkward. Quiet moments with Rick are more common nowadays, you’re learning to appreciate it best you can. 

Handsome as he may be, Rick truly looks like shit. His stress is palpable, so you do the only thing you know how– offer to help (again). You know he’ll reject it; you speak up anyway. 

“So, uh, why don’t you let me close up with you tonight? We’ll get out of here in half the time. I could use the extra hours anyway. Been a while since I worked a double.” You offer. Maybe if you frame it as something you want to do for yourself, he’ll be more inclined to accept. 

Rick thought to himself for a moment, never wanting to take advantage of your kindness. He knows you have to be up early to open the diner with Maggie tomorrow, which is why he didn’t schedule either of you to close up tonight (seeing as he is in charge of the schedule now). But if you really needed the extra hours, who was he to deny you. 

“Alright, fine.” He accepts. You grin as though you’d won an argument- if you could even call this an argument. “But you have to take a good break. Come back in an hour, yeah? In time for the dinner rush?” 

You try to hide your girl-ish grin, pleased with your ability to have convinced him so easily. 

“Sure thing, Grimes,” you press the butt of your cigarette into the bottom of your shoe before tossing it in the dumpster behind the diner. “See you in an hour!” You holler at him as you walk backwards to your car. 

“See ya,” he waves at you, biting back a bit of a smile himself. 

You’d love to go home and freshen up, but you live too far from the diner to justify the drive. It’d take you the whole hour just to get there and back, so you spend your break listening to some CD’s in your car. 

~~~

To your surprise, the dinner rush seems to go by just as fast as the morning did. Before you know it, it’s time to start closing up for the night. You slightly regret your offer as you realize you have to be back here in– you glance at the wall clock– five hours. It’s not like you plan to make a habit of working doubles, so you suck it up. 

Rick starts in the kitchen- rotating the stored food, washing all the remaining dishes, mopping up the floor, replacing the mats, and locking the walk-in freezer. He’s lost in thought as he works through the list of tasks to finish up, wondering why you’re so insistent on helping out, though he knows it's because you’re just too kind for your own good. You were always willing to go the extra mile, even for people that don’t deserve it at times. 

You start tending to everything outside of the kitchen- wiping all the tables, stacking the chairs, sweeping, mopping, tying up all the trash bags, refilling ketchup bottles and syrup dispensers, emptying the coffee maker. You smile to yourself as you do it, shaking your head as you think about your interaction earlier with Rick. Your favorite part was refilling all the creamer, sugar, salt, pepper, jam, and butter packets– getting them all organized and lined up neatly on each table. It was satisfying, even if they only stay this way while the place is closed. 

After that, you haul a (extremely overfilled) trash bag over your shoulder and shove your way through the back door to the dumpster when you see Rick burst through the double doors. 

“What’re you doin’?” he asks, already knowing the answer. 

“This is the last thing I have to do and then we’re closed up out there!” You huff, still trying to open the door. You’re at an awkward angle with the way you’re carrying the trash bag. 

“It’s late darlin’, I don’t want you goin’ out there on your own, gimme that,” he takes the trash bag from you and places his free hand on your hip to scoot you out of his way. Mind a little fuzzy, you do move in the direction of his gentle push, allowing him to shimmy out the back door to the dumpster.

A blush creeps up on your cheeks at the contact, but more so at the gesture. Rick did have a tendency to be a bit protective, it’s just who he is. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t turn you on a little bit. Although you know this doesn’t have anything to do with Rick specifically, it had just been a while since you’d been laid. You and Rick have been friends for far too long for him to ever see you that way anyway. 

The click and shut of the back door thankfully snaps you out of your thoughts. Rick gives you a warm look as he walks past you and back into the kitchen. You do a quick double check of everything on the main floor before following Rick into the back. 

“What else do you have left? I’m all done out there,” you say with your hands on your hips, catching your breath a bit after the long day. 

“Really? You’re quick, maybe I should let you close up with me more often,” he jokes, taking his waist apron off and hanging on the hook, “and I actually just finished up myself.”

“I’d be happy to, you know,” you say, a little meeker than you’d intended. 

Rick looks at you, holding your gaze for a moment longer than usual, then he nods.

“Alright then, I’ll uh- I’ll work on moving your hours around,” he pauses, eyes tired and gentle, “if you want.” 

You nod, “I’m ready for a change anyway. The early mornings are starting to make me feel crazy. I just end up sleeping all afternoon after I get off work, then I’m all screwed up in the evening… I’m rambling, sorry.” You offer a weak laugh to soften the mood. 

“I don’t mind it.” Rick says plainly. You nod in response. 

You gather up your bag, your denim jacket, and hang up your apron next to his on the hooks by the door. 

The two of you reach at the same time for your car keys, he swiftly pulls away, taking a step backwards and gesturing toward the hook as though to politely say, you first. You oblige, grabbing your keys. You then mimic his actions, pulling a small laugh from him. 

Rick holds the back door open for you, you thank him with a nod and start to round the corner of the building toward your car in the parking lot out front. Rick fumbles with the keys as he goes to lock the diner’s door.

“Wait up-” he says, finally finding the right key and locking the deadbolt, “lemme walk you to your car.” 

He jogs a bit to catch up with you. 

“Why, Grimes?” You say, bumping your hip against his as the two of you walk (albeit quite closely) to your car. 

“As a thank you for tonight, was nice of you to stay and help. I’m usually cleanin’ for another hour or so when I’m here by myself,” he says earnestly. 

“It’s nothin’ Rick,” you say, trying not to make a big deal out of anything, “just needed some extra hours,” insincere- knowing the only reason you’d offered to stay was to help him get out of there sooner so he could get some much needed sleep. 

“Right,” he smiles and nods, playing your game a little bit. “Well, happy to give you the spare shifts whenever you need ‘em sweetheart,” he bumps your hip back this time. 

The two of you arrive at your car, and you’re not sure why, but you feel like you’re supposed to hug him goodnight. 

So you do. 

Briefly, sweetly, you wrap your arms around his waist and press your cheek to his chest, giving him a quick squeeze. He hardly has time to process what you’re doing, barely wrapping his arms over your shoulders before you’ve already pulled away. He wears a caught-off-guard expression. 

“It’s gonna be okay, Rick,” you say, your quiet voice mixing with the electrical buzz of the warm street lamp illuminating the parking lot, “but, you’ve got to let us help you out– me, the Greenes– we’re here for you, alright?” 

“Thank you.” Rick says hesitantly. This is the first time you’ve gone all sympathetic sincerity on him since everything happened with his dad. It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate it, he does, it was just a little left-field coming from you. 

You unlock your car and climb into the driver's seat, rolling down your window so you can keep talking to him. 

“Like I said, it’s nothin’, really,” you say, starting up your engine. 

“Get home safe, yeah?” Rick says, leaning down to peek his head where he can see you again. 

“Always do,” you tease, the two of you share a laugh, and you speak again, “see you Wednesday?” 

“See you Wednesday,” he confirms, tapping the roof of your car twice before walking away. 

You watch him walk in his bow-legged, confident, Rick-ish sort of way he walks– always with purpose, and always a little crooked. He gets in his truck, and the two of you leave the parking lot at the same time, pulling out of the lot in opposite directions.

THANK YOU FOR READING!

Let me know what y'all think <3

CHAPTER 2 COMING NEXT WEEK!

[sc3ptre]

About time

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x fem!reader

⟡ Main Index | ⟡ Archive for Earth-1114

Summary: Across every stage of the outbreak, your physical relationship with Daryl mirrors his emotional growth from detached survivor to a man who worships and protects the one person he refuses to lose.

Classification and content warnings: Smut +18 | Rough sex, consensual but primal encounters, dirty talk, fingering, oral sex, biting, marking, mild choking and creampies.

Temporal setting: Season 1 to 11

Word count: 4,5k

Divider by me ;)

Quarry Camp:

In the early days, the world was fresh in its death, nerves raw with everyone on edge. 

Daryl was a ghost at the edges of the group, crossbow always in hand, resentment simmering under his skin from Merle’s absence and the constant babysitting of these soft strangers. You were useful, another set of eyes, a decent shot and not afraid to get dirty. That was all it was.

He didn’t talk much, never did but one night after a supply run gone tense, the quarry’s humid air thick with insect noise and distant moans of the dead, he cornered you behind the tree line, away from the flickering campfires. His hand landed heavily on your hip, callused fingers digging in as yours did the same over the tent in his jeans.

“Need this,” he growled low, more a statement than a question. 

He spun you against a thick trunk, rough bark scraping your palms as he yanked your pants down just enough. His own jeans were shoved low on his hips, cock already hard and leaking from the day’s pent-up rage and there was no kissing. 

He spat in his palm, slicked himself once and pushed in a raw and thick, burning stretch that made your teeth clench. He fucked like he was punishing the world with brutal, shallow thrusts at first and then deeper, hips snapping with frustrated force. One hand fisted your hair while the other gripped your waist hard enough to bruise as grunts and low curses spilled from him.

“Fuck…tight…f–shit,” voice gravelly and breathless.

It was quick and ugly. He came with a choked groan, hips stuttering as he forcefully pulled out, then quickly tucked himself away while you were still catching your breath, slick dripping down your thighs. He quickly wiped you with a rag from his pocket, offered a nod and he was gone back to his tent. There was no aftercare or additional words because it was a matter of convenience and release, in the same way he would scratch an itch or hunt for food.

CDC:

The CDC felt like false hope wrapped in sterile walls. Everyone was drunk on wine and the illusion of safety while Daryl was still on the outside of the main room, distrust thick in his veins but the alcohol loosened his tongue just a fraction. You ended up in a dim side corridor after everyone else had passed out or paired off.

He was a little less feral here, still no tenderness but the frustration had changed into survival-fueled need mixed with the knowledge that tomorrow might be the end. He pulled you into a shadowed lab room and bent you over a cold metal table, pushing your jeans down and shoving your shirt up so he could look at your strengthening back muscles. His mouth was on your neck this time, biting more than kissing, teeth scraping skin as he lined up and sank in with one rough thrust.

“Keep quiet,” he muttered against your ear with a thick voice. His pace was steadier but still punishing, hips slapping loud in the empty room as the table creaked under you.

He reached around, rough fingers finding your clit and rubbing in messy circles, it was in no way skilled, mostly effective. You clenched around him and he cursed, low and filthy, pounding in harder as sweat dripped from his chest onto your back. When he came it was with a bitten-off groan, hips flush against your ass as he pulsed inside.

He lingered a second longer than at the quarry, forehead pressed briefly to your shoulder while he caught his breath but then he pulled out, helped yank your pants up with a grunt and left. This time, it was convenience with the faintest edge of mutual reliance now since you watched each other’s backs out there more than once.

Hershel’s Farm:

The farm brought fragile stability as days blurred into chores, patrols and quiet nights. Daryl was more integrated but still prickly, especially after Sophia. You hunted together now as silent but efficient partners in the woods and inevitably, that shared competence started bleeding into everything else.

Sex wasn’t random anymore. It happened after long days tracking, in abandoned barns  or deep in the woods where no one wandered. He still didn’t do ‘soft’ but there was more of a rhythm now and he made sure you came at least once.

One evening after a successful hunt, blood still under his nails, he tugged you up the ladder into the hayloft, moonlight filtering through the slats. He stripped you slowly, your shirt went first but he still hesitated to touch anywhere else. When he pushed inside, you were on your back in the hay, legs wrapped around his waist, his thrusts were deep and grinding, less frantic than before but still very blunt. Skin slapped and heavy breathing filled the space with the occasional low “Yeah…like that,” when you moaned or tightened around him.

He watched your face more, studying reactions like he studied tracks. One hand pinned your wrist above your head while the other gripped your thigh, spreading you wider so he could hit deeper. Sweat-slick and grunting, he fucked you until your legs shook and when you came, he didn’t stop, just kept that relentless pace until he followed, burying himself with a ragged groan and staying there longer, hips twitching.

Afterwards, he didn’t leave right away. He rolled off but stayed close, one arm draped heavy over your waist while you both breathed heavily. There was no ‘love talk’ or any real cuddling but there was a quiet acknowledgment, you were not just a warm body anymore. You were the one who moved silently with him through the trees, the one who didn’t flinch at his scars or his moods.

Respect was starting to root, even if feelings were still buried deep under layers of loss and survival.

The road after the barn burned:

The farm was ash and the group was scattered on the road, exhausted, hungry and hunted while nights were cold and the days brutal. You and Daryl fell into a rhythm of scouting ahead, hunting small game and watching each other’s backs without needing words. 

The sex became less about pure frustration and more about grounding each other in the chaos, two hardened survivors stealing heat and release when the weight of leadership and loss pressed too heavy.

One night the group camped in a tight circle of cars off a forgotten highway. You slipped away together into the tree line, far enough for privacy but close enough to hear if walkers or threats appeared. Daryl pulled you behind a thick oak, his crossbow leaned nearby within easy reach. 

The air smelled of pine and distant smoke. He was dirt-streaked and tense but his hands were sure when he turned you to face the tree. “C’mere,” he muttered, voice low and rough like gravel though you were starting to like it. He tugged your pants and underwear down to your knees in one motion, then freed himself, he was already hard, thick and flushed, veins prominent from the day’s adrenaline. He spat into his palm again, an old habit but this time he reached around and worked the slickness over your entrance with two rough fingers, opening you up properly for the first time in weeks.

When he pushed in it was still shallow, still a stretch that burned so good, too good, but slower. He bottomed out with a heavy exhale against the back of your neck while one arm braced on the trunk above your head, the other wrapped around your waist, holding you steadily against him. His thrusts started deep and rolling, in long strokes that dragged against every sensitive spot inside you, yet the slap of skin was muffled by the night. He grunted softly with each thrust, breath hot on your skin.

“Fuck…you feel good,” he admitted between clenched teeth. It definitely wasn’t sweet talk, it sounded more like pure honesty, a bit surprising. His hand slid down, callused fingers finding your clit and rubbing firm, steady circles in time with his hips. 

He was learning your body now, paying attention to the way you clenched and gasped, so when your legs started to shake, he didn’t speed up, he kept that relentless pace until you came hard around him, biting your own arm to stay quiet.

Only then did he let go, hips snapping sharper as he chased his own release. He came with a low, broken groan, pressing deep and staying buried while he pulsed inside you, forehead dropped to your shoulder. 

For a long minute he just breathed there with you, arm still banded around your middle like he just remembered what came after this. He pulled out carefully, helped you fix your clothes with surprisingly gentle hands, then wiped himself with a rag before offering it to you. 

You hunted together the next morning like always and the respect was palpable now. He trusted you with his life out there and the sex had become another way you took care of each other in a world that took everything.

The prison (Before the Governor):

Prison walls finally offered something like safety with its cells, fences and routines. Daryl was more settled but still carried the weight of the group on his shoulders. 

You two shared a cell more often than not as the weeks passed and the sex reflected that. It was still rough around the edges but laced with intimacy born of partnership since you had bled together, killed together and kept the group alive together.

Late one night after a long watch shift, the prison was quiet except for distant walker groans outside the fences. You were in the lower bunk of a cell in another block, the place you usually went to when you needed to get away from the group. Daryl climbed in after you, his body heavy and warm as he pressed you into the thin mattress. No words were needed before he stripped you both efficiently, hands roaming your sides and mapping scars he had memorized by now.

He settled between your thighs, cock heavy and leaking against your soaked pussy. This time he took his time entering, thick inch by inch, watching your face in the dim light filtering through the bars. Once he was fully seated he paused, hips flush, letting you feel every inch of him stretching you open. “Good?” he rasped, voice barely above a whisper. You nodded and he started moving deeply with precise thrusts that rocked the bunk frame quietly. His mouth found your neck then, sucking marks that would be hidden by a high-neck shirt in the morning.

He fucked you like a man who knew exactly what you needed after a hard day. One hand pinned your hip while the other braced beside your head and the angle let him grind against your clit with every thrust. His grunts were low and guttural, “That’s it…take it…fuck, too good of a habit to quit.” The words slipped out heavily with the truth of your partnership as he was claiming you in the only way he knew how.

When you came he rode it out, stroking you through it until you were trembling, then he let himself go, burying deep with a choked groan, hips stuttering as he filled you. He collapsed half on top of you afterward, breathing hard against your neck with one arm wrapped around your waist. He didn’t pull out immediately, he stayed inside you, softening, while his thumb stroked lazy circles on your skin, yet there were no grand declarations but the protectiveness was there in every touch. You were his hunting partner, his cellmate, the one person he let see the cracks and he realized how respect had become bone-deep loyalty.

The prison (After the Governor):

The Governor’s attack left scars, literal and otherwise. The prison was damaged, the group fractured and trust in short supply. Daryl was darker now, angrier and more withdrawn after losing so many, as a result, the sex turned fiercer, punishing in its intensity but it was still the one place where the two of you could reconnect without the weight of leadership crushing you.

After a brutal day reinforcing defenses and scouting for revenge, he found you in that same secluded cell block and tension rolled off him in waves, same with you. He pushed you against the cold concrete wall, removing your boots, yanking your pants down roughly while his own were haphazardly shoved low by you. He was rock hard, angry-hard and he spat on his cock before hiking your thigh up and driving into you in one brutal thrust.

“Need you,” he growled against your ear, teeth grazing the shell. There was no warmup that time, he fucked you hard and fast with deep, punishing strokes that lifted you onto your toes. The slap of skin echoed as his hand wrapped around your throat lightly, holding you possessively while the other remained at your thigh, fingers gripping hard enough to leave fingerprints. “Don’t you fuckin’ leave me too,” he snarled between thrusts, voice cracking with everything he wouldn’t say outright.

It was desperate and sweat dripped. Your moans mixed with his grunts as he angled to hit that spot inside you relentlessly until you shattered around him, clenching so tight he cursed viciously. He followed right after, slamming deep and staying there, cock pulsing as he spilled hot and thick inside you with a long moan.

He stayed pressed against your front for a long time, breathing ragged, arms caging you in until he softened and pulled out, resting his forehead against yours for a silent moment, allowing rare vulnerability. Then he helped clean you up with hands steadier than his mood. 

The partnership was ironclad now, he would kill for you without hesitation and the sex was how he reminded you and himself that you were still here, still his to protect in this brutal world. There weren’t any feelings yet but the foundation was set, layered with deep respect, fierce loyalty and a bone-deep need that only grew stronger with every loss.

Alexandria (Before Negan):

Alexandria’s walls felt like a different world between the clean houses, running water and the people still trying to pretend the dead weren’t out there. Daryl was uncomfortable with the softness and domesticity but he was adapting. You two had a house now, a shared space and inevitably, the sex changed noticeably. The frustration and pure convenience were gone since respect had deepened into vulnerability and feelings started to surface in the quiet moments after, now that there was a space they could live in safely.

One night the house was quiet and the neighborhood asleep. You were in the bedroom you shared, moonlight cutting through the curtains when Daryl came back from a late watch, still wired. He found you already in bed and stripped slowly, eyes locked on you the entire time and when he climbed over you, his touch was still callused and sure but there was a new reverence in it.

He kissed you now in deep, hungry kisses that tasted like want and something softer. His mouth trailed down your neck, sucking marks you no longer hid and he took his time undressing you, hands mapping every inch like he was memorizing you all over again. 

When he finally pushed inside, it was slow and thick, stretching you open with a groan that vibrated against your throat, though you didn’t need to be quiet now.

“Goddamn…always so good for me,” he murmured, voice rough but laced with emotion he couldn’t quite hide. His hips rolled in deep and steady thrusts, they had grown confident and controlled, hitting every spot that made your back arch. He was fully present, watching your face and adjusting his angle whenever your breath caught. 

One hand laced with yours above your head while the other gripped your thigh, spreading you wider so he could sink even deeper.

The pace built gradually making your skin slick with sweat as the bed creaked softly. He ground against your clit with every thrust, low grunts mixing with your moans. “Been keeping those sounds away from me? Those are mine now,” he whispered against your lips, it was the first time he said it quite like that, claiming in a way that carried weight. When you came he rode it through, kissing you through the tremors, then let himself follow, burying deep with a ragged groan as he filled you, hips stuttering with the intensity of it.

He stayed inside you for a long minute, then rolled you both so you were draped over his chest, arms wrapped around you as one hand stroked slowly up and down your back. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, small and hesitant but at least there was no more bolting and no more walls to keep up. The feelings were there now, quiet and extremely terrifying for a man who had lost everything. He held you like you were the one thing in this world he refused to let slip away.

The Hilltop:

Hilltop brought new alliances, new dangers and new responsibilities. The relationship had settled into something solid by then as sex reflected his growing confidence, he knew what he wanted, knew what you needed and he gave it without hesitation.

You stole a night in one of the smaller trailers on the outskirts. The air was cooler, tension from recent runs still humming under his skin as he pulled you onto the narrow bed, stripping you both with practiced hands. He was harder and more assured now in what the two of you had built.

He went down on you first, something that had become more common. His rough stubble scraped your inner thighs, tongue and lips relentless and skilled from practice before two thick fingers curled inside you while he sucked on your clit until your hips bucked and you came against his mouth with a muffled cry. Only then did he climb up, cock heavy and dripping as he slid into your soaked pussy in one smooth thrust.

“Fucking…perfect,” he growled, voice low and gravelly. His thrusts were powerful and confident in deep, rolling strokes that made the bed frame knock against the wall. He pinned your wrists lightly, mouth on your neck, sucking fresh marks while he fucked you steady and hard. He changed angles until he found the one that made you keen, then exploited it mercilessly, hips snapping with precision.

The possessiveness was stronger now, mixed with open care. “Stay with me,” he rasped between thrusts. “Ain’t losin’ you out there.” When you clenched around him and came again he groaned loudly, following you over the edge and burying himself to the hilt as he spilled hot and deep, hips grinding through the pulses.

After, he cleaned you both with a warm cloth from the basin, then pulled you tight against him under the thin blankets. His hand rested on your hip, thumb stroking lazy circles and he talked more now, just quiet murmurs about the day, about worries for the group and about how you made the weight feel bearable. The man who once fucked you against a tree and left was gone, this Daryl held you like you were home.

Alexandria (After Negan):

Negan’s shadow had left its mark of blood, loss, captivity and war. Daryl was harder again in some ways but with you he was open like he never was before. The sex, when he could finally indulge in it, was emotional, a release and a reaffirmation that you both had survived. He had lost too many and the fear of losing you fueled everything.

Back in your shared house in Alexandria, the first night after Negan and the Saviors were successfully defeated by the group, he was on you the moment the door closed and he kissed you like a man drowning with deep and desperate hands roaming everywhere. Clothes came off in a frantic trail to the bedroom and once you reached it, he lifted you onto the bed, spread your thighs wide and buried his face between them first, eating you out with single-minded hunger until you were shaking and oversensitive.

Then he was inside you, thick and stretching you out perfectly. He fucked you with deep, shallow strokes, hips snapping against yours with control. Every thrust carried the weight of relief, love he still struggled to name and inevitably, the fear of tomorrow. 

“Can’t lose you,” he growled against your mouth, voice breaking. “You hear me? You’re it for me.”

He laced your fingers together, pinning your hands beside your head while he drove into you. The pace was relentless and the sound of skin slapping obscene as sweat-slick bodies moved together. He watched your face the entire time, drinking in every moan and flutter like it was the first time and when you came he didn’t stop, he kept fucking you through it until you were sobbing his name and cumming again, then finally let go with a deep, guttural moan, emptying himself inside you in long, pulsing waves that sounded painful.

He collapsed beside you and pulled you into his arms immediately, holding you so tight it was almost bruising. He buried his face in your neck, breathing you in and apologizing for being so “gone” which you immediately corrected even as he pressed soft kisses to your temple and shoulder. His hand stroked your hair, your back and anywhere he could reach because there was no hiding anymore, the feelings were overflowing and terrifying. He whispered rough promises against your skin, about how he would always come back to you and how he would protect what you had built together.

This Daryl was confident, devoted and deeply in love, even if the words still came slowly. The evolution was complete in its own way, from frustrated quick fucks in the woods to this raw, emotional and unbreakable connection without a place to hide.

The Commonwealth:

Years had carved their marks deep into both of you. The Commonwealth offered structure, safety, even a fragile sense of normalcy with its bustling streets, electricity and attempts at governance but Daryl had seen too many utopias crumble. You were the one constant he refused to lose, the one person who had walked every mile of hell beside him, from quarry dirt to these polished Commonwealth streets. The sex between you now was no longer just release or partnership, it was love made physical and intricate, a language only the two of you fully understood. It was slow when time allowed and desperate when the ghosts pressed close, always profound.

One night in your shared apartment, modest by Commonwealth standards but private and secure, Daryl returned from a long day helping with outer perimeter checks. The weight of old habits lingered in his shoulders, his crossbow still strapped nearby even there. 

You met him at the door and the moment his eyes locked on yours, the tension changed. He pulled you into a deep, claiming kiss, hands sliding under your shirt to feel warm skin, thumbs brushing the familiar scars he knew by heart and clothes were shed without rush but with purpose, leaving a trail through the living room into the bedroom. The bed was larger than any you had shared before, dressed in soft sheets that still felt foreign against skin used to rough blankets and forest floors.

Daryl laid you down like something precious, his body covering yours, heavy, solid and safe while his mouth explored with patient hunger, kissing down your throat, across your collarbone, sucking one nipple until it pebbled under his tongue while his callused hand palmed the other breast. He moved lower, broad shoulders spreading your thighs wide as he settled between them.

His stubble scraped deliciously against sensitive skin while his tongue parted your folds, licking long, slow stripes before focusing on your clit with precise, relentless circles. Two thick fingers pushed inside you, curling just right, pumping steadily as he sucked and licked until your back arched and your fingers fisted in his long hair. He didn’t stop when you came the first time, drawing it out and savoring every flutter and gasp, murmuring low praises against your slick flesh, “Tha’s it…let me hear ya…so fuckin’ beautiful f’me.”

When he finally climbed back up, his cock was heavy, flushed dark and leaking. He held your gaze as he pushed in, stretching you open inch by inch until he was buried to the hilt.

A deep groan escaped him at the tight heat and for a long moment he stayed there, forehead pressed to yours, breathing the same air. “Can’t lose you,” he whispered, voice rough and cracked with years of unsaid terror. “Lost too many…not you, never you. I’ll be selfish ‘bout tha’” 

Then he began to move in deep, rolling thrusts that ground against every sensitive spot inside you. His hips moved with confident precision, the years of learning your body were evident in every stroke. One hand laced with yours, pinning it beside your head as  the other gripped your hip, tilting you just right so he could sink even deeper.

The rhythm built gradually, skin sliding hot and slick together as the wet sounds of sex filled the room alongside his low grunts and your moans. He kissed you through it, messily and open-mouthed, tongues tangling as his pace turned harder and more possessive. He moved to hook one of your legs higher around his waist, changing the angle until you were crying out with every thrust. “Gonna marry ya,” he growled against your neck, teeth grazing the skin he had marked a thousand times before. “‘S always been ya. My home…my reason.” The words were sparse but heavy with everything he felt, the love, the fear and devotion of a man who had finally found something worth living for after the world ended.

When you came again, clenching hard around him, he rode it out with gritted teeth, prolonging your pleasure until you were trembling and oversensitive. Only then did he let go, thrusts turning deep and erratic, hips snapping as he buried himself as far as possible and came with a long, broken groan. You felt every pulse, every hot spurt of thick cum as he filled you, marking you from the inside like he always had. He stayed buried deep, hips making tiny, involuntary rocks while he softened, savoring the connection. His arms wrapped around you, rolling you both so you were draped across his chest as his hand stroked slow, soothing lines up and down your spine.

For a long time the room was quiet except for slowing breaths and distant Commonwealth night sounds. Daryl pressed kisses to your hair, your temple and shoulder, as small reverent touches that spoke volumes. His fingers traced old scars on your body, then newer ones, making a silent catalog of everything you had survived together as he murmured quietly about the day, about worries for Judith and the others and about how you made the weight of survival feel bearable.

[artverso]

Bill Sienkiewicz - Moon Knight

[age-of-moonknight]

Variant cover for Marc Spector: Moon Knight (Vol. 2/2026), #6 by Dike Ruan.

[iistach]

Serious guy

[espikola]

[noctunis]

you captured daryl sooo well in “sweet orange” and I would love to request something from the farm era! maybe after the ravine episode where daryl keeps trying to brush off everything that happened, but reader can tell he’s running himself into the ground after searching for sophia. angst/comfort and daryl being unable to accept kindness basically lol. if not, it’s totally fine. love your writing!! <3 🌟

ugh ur brain is so in tune with mine i luuuv this idea .. thank you for ur kind words on my last post! that was my first time writing for daryl as he’s becoming my new obsession recently lol. hope this is okay ! ؛༊ not proofread!

merle’s visage is burned behind daryl’s eyelids.

his brother’s words burrow in the folds of his brain as he stares at the window. a curtain draped over the glass, long enough to where it skims the bottom of where the sill curves. the room’s dim with whatever light they can spare; warmth lapping at the walls with the few lamps it has.

the aching continues to bloom throughout his chest and he blames it on the arrow, but it feels different than the throbbing in his head.

“you’re gonna die out here, little brother — and for what?” he thinks of the rasp that echoed in his daze.

and despite seeing double, he can only remember how his lips moved along with his mind. “a girl,” he had mumbled. he can still feel the arrow pierce his chest, can still feel andrea’s bullet graze his skull.

“ain’t nobody ever gonna care ‘bout you except me, little brother.” he had heard. daryl could’ve see the cerulean swirling in his eyes that close. “ain’t nobody ever will.”

daryl can still feel his fingers clutching his jaw.

a rap against the door snaps him from his reverie and his eyes quickly dart to the area, turning his body with a small grunt and minimal effort, only to see you with a silver tray in your grasp; a bowl, a cup, and a small napkin softly rattling on top of it.

he must be a sight to see because your eyes soften in an instant with something indecipherable. the possibility of being scrutinized makes him squirm and realize his exposure as the cool air nips at his chest. he pulls the thin blanket over him, barely sparing a glance at the rainbow of blotched bruises that litter his skin.

“oh, daryl,” you sigh. if he pricks his ears, it almost sounds like relief.

he averts your eyes immediately, clutching the sheet tighter against his chest. “quit that,” he grumbles.

you hum, pleased, and he threatens to melt under the sound. “how’re you feeling?” you ask.

he lies his head against the pillow again, bandage camouflaged in the dull, consuming white of the cushion. he blinks slowly as he tries to adjust to the volume. “‘bout as good as i look.”

your eyes drift over him, catching on every little detail. you set the tray down on the nightstand with a satisfying clink, the drink sloshing around its glass enclosure. “figured you should eat something,” you say. “they cooked some dinner for us.”

he throws a look over his shoulder, though you notice he barely glances at the food. just you.

you cock your head as you watch him shift further into the bed. you’re not sure he could get any more comfortable — he’d probably sink into the mattress if he tried.

“thanks,” he mumbles, low.

he feels the bed dip under your weight, somewhere near his legs that seems to fall. he turns fully, feeling the sharp pain in his neck like a cord about to be plucked.

your clothes are frayed and worn down. he watches as your palm rests against your leg, dirty denim scratched as your fingers seem to move on their own while you catch the little strings under your nail.

“you’ll be up on your feet again in a few days, knowing you,” you mumble. “why don’t i come with you next time? to look for sophia?”

“no,” he huffs. your brow twitches.

“why not? i can help.”

“‘cause i’m better on my own,” he says. “you’re not coming, end of story.”

a scoff slips your lips and daryl’s eyes immediately go to yours. your mouth gapes open and closed as you try to gather the words in your thoughts, scrambling them around like an anagram.

“daryl, look at you,” you urge. “look at what happened while you were ‘on your own’, you almost died and— and got shot in the head,” you stammer. “i mean—“

“i’m still here, ain’t i?” he interrupts, tone clipped. you sigh and face forward — into the off-white wall to where there’s nothing. he shoves his cheek back down into the pillow, his hand underneath it. the warmth against his face is unbearable but he’s too hyperaware of his body to feel like moving. “leave me be,” he says, hands shifting against the blanket like it’ll slip through his fingers despite being held so close to his chest.

“let yourself heal, daryl.”

he jolts up, the sheet slipping to where you can see the dip of his collarbones. pressing a hand against the pained area on his body. eyes of slate narrow and yet they can’t even look at you, more so just the corner of the bed. “i said leave me be! can’t you hear?” it all spills over, though it tastes bitter on his tongue by the way he spits the words at you.

you stay looking at him, a quiver in your brow and heaviness held in your eyes. you push yourself off the bed to where your shoes collide with the floorboards. a sharp thunk.

all you say is, “yeah, i heard you,” before you walk out, closing the door behind you. daryl’s left watching your shadow trail after you, sitting in the remains of the conversation like an elephant graveyard.

the pain in his chest pulls even tighter. he takes a second thought as to whether it’s truly the arrow or not.

and just as you had expected, daryl was up on his feet in a few days or so. the feeling inside his chest lessens, but only barely.

he sees you around the farm sometimes; usually, you’re talking with glenn or messing around with carl, reminding him what it feels to be a kid again. but there are times where you’re off on your own, slumped against a tree as your forlorn gaze skims the horizon. he finds his eye caught a little longer than he’d care to admit whenever it happens to find you.

and he’d still looked for sophia, clinging onto the hope that he had when he found her doll. he couldn’t help but think about what he had imagined merle would say — then he thought about what you had said.

it’s noon when he musters up the courage to find you; when the rays filter through the rv’s blinds that translate into spongy, golden rectangles that spill across the floor and the small little table. he makes his way cautiously up the steps, spotting you at the booth with a stick in your hand and the lone barrel of your gun in the other.

daryl’s boots make contact with the floor, one foot after the other, gaze drifting everywhere but you. he hovers once he gets closer to the table, staying back just a little.

you glance up at him from beneath your brow — pause, and nod to the seat in front of you. he slides into the booth slowly, clumsily. the thick silence settles between you two, save for the quiet clinking of rod against metal.

it stretches on for what feels like forever; daryl looking at your hands, kissed with gunpowder and bits of grime mixed with blood caked beneath your nails. he can almost feel himself be hypnotized by the small motions of your hands, until he notices you pull it away, the raw pink blossoming against the tender flesh of your hands.

his eyes trail to your face, the one he can’t seem to stop staring at — eyebrows pinched and a deep sigh escaping your nose.

daryl chews the inside of his lip for a moment before holding out his hand, fingers flexed as he beckons you to hand it over.

you look at his callused hand. it’s worn and dirty, and yet all it does is make you feel nothing but warmth. like the warm core of a hearth that’s been burning for far too long. you had never imagined you’d feel this way in the middle of an apocalypse where the flesh-eating hordes of undead are out to get you. it’s funny, really.

your eyes dart back up to his face, watching as his hooded eyes stay glued to yours, nodding for you to hand it over. begrudgingly, you pass it to him, along with the cloth and cleaning rod.

you watch as he cleans it quicker, already familiar with the grooves and ridges of your handgun. your eyes fall to your own hands as you curl them and let the lactic acid dissipate, letting your hand relax for once.

you frown. “gross,” you say. he glances up at you. “now my hands’ll smell like metal.”

a hint of a smirk tugs at daryl’s lips. just barely, but you feel your own small smile starting to form. he gives a small, amused huff. “coulda just let me clean it,” he mumbles.

you tip your head back against the head of the seat, feeling the discomfort dig into the back of your neck. “are you done bein’ a dick?” you ask. it’s soft, but he knows you mean it.

his eyes stay trained on the gun. he thinks of the right thing to say, for once in his life, before eventually settling on a low, “yeah.”

once again, silence fills the space. you peer down to look at daryl, focused on his task at hand. a peek of his tongue caught between his lips, slumped against the booth.

your gaze softens. “you know i only wanna help, right?” you more so tell him rather than ask him. you know he knows. he blinks up at you, almost feline-like. “you were shot, stabbed, practically almost eaten.”

he hums. the sound buzzes low in the hollow of his throat. you lean in, placing a hand against the table, warm from where the sun’s rested. “quit pushing me away,” you whisper. “let me help you.”

he pauses his ministrations, staring at your hand. his brain practically splits into two as his eyes burn holes into the slope of your knuckle. there’s an itch in the back of his mind that wonders what’d it feel like to rest his skin against yours.

he ultimately brushes that thought off though, finding your eyes again. he traces the worried furrow of your brow and he knows you won’t let up. “you’ve done a lot. carol’s really grateful, y’know,” you say. “i’m gonna go with you tomorrow to help look for her, ‘kay?”

he nods with a quiet, “okay.”

and at the sight of your lips curling into a smile, daryl can feel the ache in his chest finally subside.

i luvd this! whoever sees this.. pls request more for daryl if u seemed to like this and my prev post! 💗

[dailymarvelstudios]

Moon Knight 1x03 "The Friendly Type"

[spankyourlocalbrat]

pov. you don’t listen, you push buttons, talk back and by the grace of god! he doesn’t do anything…for days. it wasn’t till you pissed him off extra was when he was decided on doing something about it.

notes. this is for all of my kinky little poop heads. ok im sorry idk what i was thinking while writing that… pls dont block me. anyway this is a bit rushed pls dont kill me guys

content warnings. ⸝⸝ fem reader, size kink, finger sucking, creampie, hair pulling, choking, no proof read, reader calls negan daddy, negan slaps reader, spitting in mouth, teasing, bratty reader, restraints via belt

you’d been pushing negan’s buttons for days, and you knew exactly what you were doing.

backtalking him during supply meetings in front of the saviors, rolling your eyes when he gave orders, “accidentally” brushing your ass against him in the crowded hallways then sauntering off like you hadn’t felt him twitch.

yesterday you’d straight up questioned his call on a run right in front of simon, voice sugary sweet but loaded with challenge. you loved the way his jaw flexed, loved the way his eyes flashed you with warning, loved playing with fire.

tonight he finally cornered you in the dim hallway outside his quarters, his bat propped on his shoulder, leather jacket still on, his smirk barely masking the storm.

“alright, doll. you’ve had your fun all goddamn week. you wanna tell me what the fuck that little attitude is about?” his voice was low, almost patient at first, giving you a clear out. “because i’ve been real fucking generous. but even i’ve got limits, sweetheart.” he said

you crossed your arms, chin tilted up defiantly. “maybe i’m just tired of you strutting around like you own everything that moves. including me.” you bark.

negan let out a low chuckle and stepped closer, towering over you, making you feel tiny. “own you? baby, i haven’t even started playing with you yet. but keep running that pretty mouth and that changes tonight.” he warned.

you smiled, all teeth. “what are you gonna do? spank me like a bad little girl? or are you all talk, like usual?” you mock him, brows furrowed as if you’re not even going to attempt to take him serious.

his eyes flashed. “last fucking chance. apologize nicely and maybe i’ll still be sweet to that bratty little pussy.” he continued, but you looked him dead in the eyes and whispered, “make me.”

negan’s grin turned sharp. “oh sweetheart...you just fucked up real bad.” he coos.

he grabbed your wrist, yanked you into his room and kicked the door shut. before you could snap at him again he shoved you against the wall, one huge hand wrapping around your throat, not crushing, just firm enough to make your pulse race under his palm.

“strip,” he ordered, voice rough. when you hesitated he slapped your cheek firmly, the sting blooming hot. “now.” he commands.

you obeyed, heart hammering. once you were bare he spun you around, yanked his belt off with a sharp snap and bound your wrists tight behind your back. he marched you to the bed and shoved you down on your stomach, then flipped you over like you weighed nothing. the casual show of strength made you throb.

negan stood between your spread thighs, still fully dressed, stroking his thick cock while he looked down at you. “goddamn, look at you. so fucking small compared to me. bet that gets you dripping, doesn’t it? knowing i could break a tiny thing like you in half and you’d still beg for more.” he mentions.

he dragged two fingers through your soaked folds and laughed low and mean. “fucking pathetic. been mouthing off all week and your cunt’s already drooling like a desperate whore.”

he pushed his fingers deep, curling them hard, pumping slow and teasing. every time you started to shake close to the edge he pulled them out completely, slapping your clit with his wet fingers.

“negan—please—”

he slapped your thigh hard. “wrong fucking name, brat.” he corrects. you glared up at him, stubborn. he smirked, rubbing the fat head of his cock against your clit, teasing your entrance but never pushing in.

“you don’t get this cock until you call me daddy like a good little slut. otherwise i’ll edge this greedy pussy until you’re sobbing and leave you empty all night.” he tells you, his tone nothing but serious. you bit your lip, hips chasing him desperately. he just pulled back, slapping your clit again with his cock.

“say it.” he demands and you give in. “…daddy,” you finally whispered, face burning. “louder, doll. and look at me while you do it.” he orders. you look up at him. “daddy,” you moaned, eyes locked on his.

“good girl.” he rewarded you by spitting thick and warm right into your open mouth, then shoved two fingers in after it. “suck, baby. taste how wet you are for daddy.” he said.

you sucked greedily while he finally pushed inside you—slow, stretching your tight little cunt wide around his thick length. the size difference made your eyes roll back.

“fuck, that’s tight,” he groaned, bottoming out so deep you swore he was rearranging your guts. “tiny brat pussy swallowing every inch. you feel how full you are? that’s daddy owning you.” he brags.


he fucked you with long, torturous strokes, keeping you right on the edge. one hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your head spin, the other fisting your hair and yanking your head back. every time you got close he slowed or stopped, mocking you.

“aww, what’s wrong, baby? gonna cry because daddy won’t let his little brat come yet? should’ve thought about that before you acted like a disrespectful cunt all week.” he barks out.

you whimpered, tears leaking. “please, daddy—please let me come.” you plea.

he grinned, thrusting harder but still denying you. when you tried to grind he slapped your cheek again, firm and sharp. “behave.” then he shoved his thumb back into your mouth. “suck on that like it’s daddy’s cock while you take it.”

you sucked desperately, drooling around his thumb while he pounded you. when he finally let you come you shattered hard, screaming “daddy—” as your walls clamped down on him. he fucked you through it, then pulled out, flipped you onto your stomach, ass up, and slammed back in even deeper.

“that’s one. now take the rest like the filthy cumslut you are.” he said.


he railed you from behind, hips slapping loud against your ass, one hand choking you from the side, the other yanking your hair like reins.

the belt around your wrists dug in as you pulled against it. he reached around and rubbed your clit fast and mean, forcing another orgasm out of you while he laughed at how you shook.

“look at you creaming all over daddy’s cock again. so fucking easy once that mouth shuts up.” he kept going, relentless, until you were a drooling, sobbing mess. then he buried himself deep and came hard, pumping thick ropes of cum straight into your twitching cunt. he stayed plugged inside, grinding lazily, making sure it stayed deep.

“good girl. keep that load where it belongs.” he says. 
he didn’t pull out. just flipped you again, still buried inside, and started fucking his cum back into you with slow, deep thrusts. you were oversensitive, whimpering, but he only mocked you more.

“too much for my tiny baby? too fucking bad. brats who mouth off get fucked until they break.” he mocked.

he spat in your mouth again, made you swallow while he choked you lightly and rubbed your clit. you came a third time, weaker but shaking harder, and he followed right after. another hot creampie flooding you until it leaked out around his cock.


he finally untied your wrists but only so he could manhandle you onto your knees. he shoved his slick, cum covered cock into your mouth. “clean daddy up, doll. taste how well you took all that cum.” he said.

you sucked him sloppy and desperate, tears streaming, while he fisted your hair and fucked your throat. when he got hard again he pushed you onto your back, threw your legs over his shoulders, and folded you in half, using his size to pin you completely.

“one more, baby. gonna fill this little pussy so full you’ll be dripping daddy’s cum for days.” he says.

he pounded you mercilessly, choking you, slapping your tits and thighs when you squirmed too much, calling you his stupid little cumdump, his perfect tiny whore.

you came one last time with a broken sob, and he emptied himself again, so much cum it pushed out around him in messy white rings.

he finally collapsed beside you, pulling your much smaller body against his chest, big hand lazily rubbing your sore, cum-filled pussy.

“you done mouthing off, doll?” he asked, voice lazy but still cocky. “or do i need to remind you again tomorrow who this sloppy cunt belongs to?” he questioned. you buried your face in his neck, exhausted, voice hoarse. you shake your head and he laughs.

[nkp1981]

Oscar Isaac

[wintrynightz]

Meeting Daryl before the outbreak ⋆.𐙚 ̊

𝜗ৎ You worked at a local gas station in the town and the one time you were asked to work a night shift, Daryl found his way into the station. Daryl was the one to step in when some random man started to bother you. After thanking him all he said was “ ‘s nothing sweetheart”

𝜗ৎ After you encourage with Daryl you started to notice him finding his way into the gas station more often

𝜗ৎ Daryl was smitten with you the first time he saw you. He wanted to ask you out so bad, but he was way too scared, scared you won’t think he’s attractive enough, that he isn’t good enough. Overall Daryl thinks he isn’t good enough for a pretty thing like you, so he never says anything

𝜗ৎ one day though, he gives in by offering to buy you a drink from the station when it’s all quiet and just the two of you. You accept it and end up getting to know each other

𝜗ৎ Daryl ends up asking if you’re free that weekend and asks if you’d like to go to the local pub with him, which you do

𝜗ৎ Daryl knows he’s not the greatest man in the world, he doesn’t have a stable job and he has issues. He had given up on changing long time ago, partly because he thought change wasn’t possible for him and because he didn’t have any reason to change for. Until you came into his life though, and now he makes small changes to be more deserving of you

𝜗ৎ He found a job and most of the pay check will be spend on you. If you’ve mentioned wanting to buy something or if you’ve even just been eyeing something, Daryl will be buying it as soon as he gets his check. He started drinking less and less alcohol after you came to his life

𝜗ৎ Daryl isn’t big on pda or saying sweet words, it’s not like he doesn’t want to be an affection boyfriend, it’s just that he doesn’t know how to. And so he shows he cares differently: fixing things for you before you even notice them jamming, if he notices you running out of hair conditioners he’ll stock up them for you

𝜗ৎ In the quiet and private Daryl loves to have his hands on you. He’ll pull you as close to him as physically possible, draw circles on your thigh and kiss the top of your head, forehead, nose, cheek, and lastly lips

𝜗ৎ Even though Daryl doesn’t sweet talk much, almost never, he’ll randomly remind you how much you mean to him “ you mean so much to me darlin’ “ he’ll whisper one night to you

[coolcomicbookcovers]

[buy-one-get-three-free]

(wip) i can just kind of do whatever i want.

[binkblg]

Is that so, Old man?⋆˚࿔

OlderBF!Toji got sick of his bratty young ho girlfriend poking fun at him for being older, knowing damn well he can fuck the attitude right outta her if he wanted to.

w/c: 1.2k ✮⋆˙ Masterlist

𑣲Content Warnings: age gap (Reader: early/mid twenties, Toji: late thirties/early forties) implied marathon, overstimulation, breeding, slight dubcon if u squint and tilt ur head (barely), creampie, headlocks, dacryphilia, improper use of Heavenly Restriction(a lil), toji being mean but then being sweet again :3

Don't get it twisted, 

Sex with Toji was good—Reeeeaaallly good. But you'd be lying if you said you didn't wonder what it would've been like to fuck him when he was younger, to have your beast of a man drill you with the kind of fervor that only comes from guys your age—or so you thought. 

He was used to your antics, teasing the loud grunt he’d make when getting out of bed in the morning, how he couldn’t figure out how to pair his shitty old phone to the Bluetooth in his car, even his choice in emojis and TV shows. He always gave you the same reactions, shooting you a deadly glare, ruffling your hair or even landing a hard smack! to whichever ass cheek of yours is nearest.

But what he didn’t expect, was for you to bring the teasing into the bedroom. 

He was grinding into you slow and deep, savouring the friction of each vein and ridge rubbing against your warm insides. You ground your hips back into him, shooting him a shit eating grin before hitting him with a quip you’d come to regret.

“Harder Ji, C’mon show me what that Heavenly Restriction can do,” 

He chuckled deep, snapping his hips just a smidge harder, nudging his tip deeper into your cunt. “Careful what you wish for,” Another loud plap! of his pelvis smacked against your ass. 

“Mmm, I get it,” you started 

“Worried you gonna fracture your hip?” 

You watched his face drop, a devilish smirk tugged at his lips.

“I’m gonna give you one last chance 'cause I really don’t think y’know what you’re gettin’ yourself into, girlie.” 

You had him right where you wanted him, now for the last little push-

 “Is that so, old man?”

"Aww baby, c'mon—haah—jus' one more hm? Can you do that f'me pretty girl? Just one more?" 

You couldn't tell how long it had been. After round three he flipped you onto your back, sometime around round six you almost slipped off the bed entirely. At this point, you had changed positions so many times you began to wonder how much longer until you'd pass out from exhaustion—struggling to keep up with his seemingly infinite libido.

"Ngh—t-Toj, s'too much," you mewled, eyes bleary from depletion as you grasped desperately at the sheets. One more he said, a plea adorned with praise and flattery in an attempt to ease you into your next inevitable orgasm. 

Your face was buried in his pillows, the scent of cigarettes and cologne overwhelming your senses as tears and drool soaked into the cushion. Large hand tracing up and down your spine, he pressed your already impossibly deep arch further, angling his hips to rut into your poor cunt even harder. 

He reached down to grip your jaw, harshly pulling you up to meet his gaze. Dark eyes pierced into yours, primal and hungry. Your arms pathetically dangled in front of you till they found his veiny forearms, holding on for dear life as he used you like his own personal fuck-toy. Every pitiful whine that bubbled from your throat only egging him on further. 

"Too much huh? Isn't this what you wanted? Ngh—for me to fuck you stupid?" His thumb smeared tears around your flushed cheeks, mascara running down your neck leaving pretty little streaks across the array of purple and red hickeys painting your throat. 

"Yes... b-but-" 

"Then fuckin' take it." 

His already vicious tempo intensified ten-fold, his pelvis blushing bright red from each cruel thrust, wet sounds of your aching cunt filling the room.

"fuckin'' Plap!

"Take it" Plap!

Squeltch! 

His hips stuttered from sensitivity, still bottoming out and fucking his nth load back into your dripping pussy. Every nudge of his thick cock head against your cervix forced your eyes to roll back into your head, jaw hanging open as spit ran down your chin.

Fucked stupid. Any word or thought that began to form in that cute little head of yours was immediately knocked out your ears by his brutish thrusts. Bruises from his rough grip decorated your thighs like abstract watercolour—dirtied from cum and slick.

He knocked an exceptionally puny sob out of you, causing his rhythm to falter slightly. "you alright, kid?" he probes, earning an eager and frantic nod as you bounced your hips back against him—meeting his sloppy thrusts halfway. "Mmm, atta girl." 

He took the opportunity to snake his arm around your throat into a mean headlock, laying you back onto the bed as he pressed his weight down onto you—thick cock stirring your insides. 

The new position was both suffocating and euphoric, allowing him access to that gooey spot that always had you gushing around him. He flexed his arm harshly, causing your cheeks to puff up around him as your drool and tears ran down his bicep. 

Your already incoherent noises turned into straight babbling when he hiked your knee up with his own, rutting into you even deeper, cock fucking you to the hilt.

 "Feel good doll? Y'feel so fuckin' good t'me—haahh" 

That familiar pressure bubbled in your tummy, pleasure shooting through to each nerve as he nudged against your sweet spot over and over and over. You choked on another pathetic coo, whining and crying out muddled whimpers as you rode out another mind-numbing orgasm.

He felt the way you shifted beneath him, the tight squeeze of your walls a sign of your climax—but he didn't stop.

Instead, he snaked his free hand down to your gushing heat to rub harsh circles to your sensitive clit. You jerked and thrashed beneath him, nails digging into his strong arm, almost breaking skin. 

Your incessant clenching and writhing brought him closer to yet another release, chasing the barely-there friction from your slippery cunt before spurting out another warm load. "F–fuck-" he groaned into your hair, his body limply softening around you, catching his breath. 

He pulled out nice and slow, earning a gentle whine from you at the now unfamiliar emptiness. A warm gush! of your juices leaked out of your hole, running down and pooling into the bedsheets. He sat back on his heels, admiring your placid form melting into the pillows. 

A warm hand palmed your ass, spreading you open enough for him to watch his cum drip out slowly, topping it off with a light smack against the cheek, massaging over the redness. You pushed against his palm, peering at him over your shoulder expecting to see those rapacious emerald eyes staring back. Instead, his gaze was soft—all love and delicacy. 

Lips curled into a smile, his hand moved up to the small of your back to rub soothing circles into the skin. 

"Y'did so good baby, so, so good." Praise falling from his lips as he massaged the soreness from your spent form, eventually slipping out of bed to fetch a warm rag and one of his shirts. 

The night melted away slowly, nuzzled in the crook of his neck as he held you close, kisses peppering your forehead. 

"Next time you run your mouth like that, I won't be so nice, got it?" 

That was him being nice?

• Next on OlderBF!Toji>

A/N: HIIII i hope u enjoyed this lil drabble, it was very fun to write hihi <3 if u saw any grammar mistakes no u didnt lol shoutout dilf toji and dilf toji enthusiasts we are the backbone of society. Also has anyone seen wuthering heights yet? im scared to cuz im lowkey sick of jacob elordi and everyone in it has iphone face sooo we'll see. (sorry if that was mean) anywayss love u thanks for reading :33

[janedo33]

Dog Eat Dog - Chapter 6

Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Content: Blood, Death, Gore, Horror, Swearing, Suggestive content, Slow burn, Age gap

Note: Sorrryyy this took so long, been busy with getting stuff situated with starting college lmao. But i’m baaack though ~

You stood next to Dale and T-dog. Talking about some book Dale read years ago he thought you’d like, and that it was in the RV if you ever wanted to. That’s when Glenn came over, holding a basket. “Dale, here’s some peaches for ya..”

Dale tightened something on the RV, humming happily as he took one. “Mm, thank you.”

Glenn held the basket out to you next, giving a small nod as you took one. He moved on to T-dog. “‘Sup?” T-dog greeted.

“Nothing —“ Glenn blurted. “Nothing’s up, why?” You raised a brow. You, Dale and T-dog all confused as he took the basket and sped away.

“Okay..well he’s clearly got something he’s hiding.” You blinked, watching Glenn move around.

What was going on with him? He seemed stressed. More than usual. You observed him silently. Shane had called him over for something..he seemed antsy even then. His moves fast and jagged. The second most of the camp left to go gun training, Glenn stayed behind to talk to Dale.

You hadn’t gone with the big group, choosing to stay with Dale already. “Wanna tell me what’s going on?” Dale questioned Glenn.

“You’re old.” Glenn stated, making you laugh under your breath. “You’re..you know things..”

“So..?” Dale continued for him.

“What if somebody told you something that..somebody else should know..?”

“Glenn, stop being dramatic. Spit it out.” Dale ushered him. Glenn stammered for a second, putting his hands on his hips.

“There’s walkers in the barn and Lori’s pregnant.”

Both you and Dale gaped, unsure of what to even say at that. Lori being pregnant wasn’t as big of a shock but walkers in the barn..was definitely something. Dale had gone off after that, to find hershel, he told you.

You stared at the barn from a distance with your arms crossed. You didn’t fully understand what Dale had told you. That Hershel believed they were just sick, that they were still people. ‘How could he think that?’ You had thought. Had he not seen them rip their hands into others stomachs? Pull their skin off their face? The first person you saw die from these freaks had gotten his intestines pulled out.

These monsters, their skin was literally rotting. Falling off. Yet he saw them as just sick and needing a cure..you can not cure that.

Glenn had told everyone about the barn the next day, due to Dale encouraging him. Shane was pissed, as he usually is, the group standing around the barn as he and Rick argued. “Okay, we’ve either gotta go in..make things right or we’ve just gotta go.” Shane paced around.

“We can’t go.” Rick said firmly.

“Why, Rick? Why?” Shane asked, looking to him.

Carol stepped in. “Cause my daughter’s still out there.”

Shane put his hands on his face, clearly exasperated. “Okay..okay i think it’s time we all start to just consider the other possibility.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You huffed at him. What a crazy thing to say to a woman who’s lost her child. Sure, he may be right in some ways, but Jesus, man be a little gentle.

“I’m close to finding this girl, i just found her damn doll a few days ago!” Daryl said.

“You found her doll, Daryl.” Shane rolled his eyes, standing his ground. “That’s what you did. You found a doll.”

Daryl swung his arm and got closer to Shane. “Man, you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!” Rick put his arm between the two quickly. Trying to get a word in through all the yelling.

“Let me tell you something else, man.” Shane started. “If she was alive out there and saw you coming, all methed out with your buck knife and geek ears around your neck, she would run in the other direction!”

That set Daryl off, he lunged for him. Rick trying his best to stop him, Glenn coming in to pull him back too. “Just let me talk to Hershel!” Rick pleaded. “Let me figure it out.”

“What are you gonna figure out?!” Shane shouted.

“If we’re gonna stay, if we’re gonna clear this barn, i have to talk him into it. This is his land!”

Dale spoke up, pointing to the barn. “Hershel sees those things in there as people. Sick people.” He told everyone. “His wife, his stepson.”

“You knew?” Rick asked.

“Yesterday, i talked to hershel.”

“And you waited the night?” Shane griped.

“I thought we could survive one more night.” Dale reasoned. “And we did!”

You raised your hand slightly, stepping forward. “I knew too, Shane. So get off his fucking ass. For once.” Shane glared at you before talking again. Well, more like bitching again.

“The man is crazy, rick! If Hershel thinks those things are alive then —!” The noise was too loud. It disturbed the walkers. The barn doors started to push and shake and rotted fingers slipped through the cracks. Everyone decided to walk away after that, that i was best to figure this out away from the building.

Besides what happened with the walkers, today was going peacefully. Or at least it was in your head. You were inside Hershels house, sitting next to Beth. The two of you chatted while you folded laundry, giggling to yourselves. It had been a while since you felt this nice. This girl was so sweet, just like your own sister. You couldn’t help but think again, that maybe she’s safe and alive…or maybe she’d be better off dead. Not dealing with all the rotting corpses walking around and tearing others apart.

Rick and Hershel had been arguing in hushed voices in the other room. You knew it was about staying on the farm. About the walkers in the barn. You only started to pay attention when Jimmy had come in. Saying something about ‘it happening again.’

“What happened again?” You asked quietly to beth, placing a neatly folded shirt on the pile next to you.

She was silent for a moment, peeking over into the rooms the men were in just a second ago before whispering back. “Just more people..”

You nodded, acknowledging what she told you. You assumed she meant for the barn. She didn’t seem too phased by it. Maybe she didn’t even fully grasp it..she wasn’t a baby, by any means. But her father, he seems to shelter her. A little too much.

Beth and you had gone outside after that. Almost everyone else gathered around the porch as well. It felt nice outside. Nice seeing everyone together. That was quickly ruined when Shane came walking. Bag of guns in hand. “What’s all this?” Daryl questioned.

“You with me, man?” Shane asked roughly, stomping over. You caught a glance at Maggie’s face. She looked concerned. And you didn’t blame her. Whatever Shane was up to wasn’t gonna be good. “It’s time to grow up.” He looked to Andrea and gestured to his gun. “You already got yours?”

“Yeah..” She responded. “Where’s Dale?”

“He’s on his way..” You didn’t like the way Shane said that. It was creepy. Ominous even.

Shane handed T-Dog a gun, passing more around. “Thought we couldn’t carry?”

“Yeah, well we can and we have too.” He raised his voice. “Look! It was one thing sitting around here pickin’ daisies when we thought this place was supposed to be safe.” He announced. “But now we know it ain’t.” He spoke to Glenn, shoving a shot gun towards him. “How ‘bout you, man? You gonna protect yours?”

Glenn glanced to Maggie, just for a second, and then took the gun.

“Can you stop?” Maggie snapped, clearly nervous. “You do this, you hand out these guns, my dad’ll make you leave tonight!”

“We have to stay, Shane.“ Carl pleaded.

You spoke up, walking off the porch steps. “Shane, whatever it is you’re doing, it’s wrong and you know that so just stop—“

Shane interrupted you, shooting you a look that only made you want to punch him. “We ain’t going anywhere, okay?” He tried to reassure the boy. “Now look. Hershel..he’s just gotta understand.” He crouched down to Carl, handing him a small gun.

“Are you actually insane?” You blurted out. Lori stepped in, placing a hand on her son’s chest and backing him up from Shane.

“Rick said no guns, this is not your call.” She spoke through gritted teeth. “This is not your decision to make.”

“Oh shit..” T-Dog exclaimed, staring at something in the distance. You followed his gaze towards the tree line. It was Rick, Hershel and Jimmy.

Shane noticed it quickly, starting off in a sprint. Everyone following. “What the hell are you doing?!” Shane yelled at Rick.

“Shane, just back off!” He shot back.

Hershel furrowed his brows, keeping his grip on the pole tight. “Why do your people have guns?”

“Are you — are you kidding me? You see what they’re holding onto?” Shane circled them as they tried to get a hold on the walkers.

“I see who i’m holding onto!” Hershel argued.

“Nah, man, you don’t!”

Rick sounded exhausted. He looked stressed. And if you were him you would be too. “Shane, just let us do this and then we can talk!”

“What you wanna talk about, Rick?” He shouted. “These things ain’t sick! They’re not people. They’re dead, ain’t gotta feel nothing for em!” He was getting more riled up than before, and it was only making others scared and angry. “‘Cause all they do? They kill! They killed Amy! they killed Otis!”

You scoffed to yourself quietly. From what you gathered, they didn’t kill Otis. It had been him. He did it..yet he’s still lying out of his ass.

Shane finally stopped pacing, hand going to his waist. “Hey, Hershel man, let me ask you something..” Nobody had time to think before he whipped out his gun. “Can a living breathing person..could they walk away from this?” He pulled the trigger, firing three shots into the dead woman’s body. The walker thrashed in hershel’s hold. “That’s three rounds to the chest! Could someone who’s alive, could they just take that?!”

You didn’t know when you had started to tune out the yelling and shooting, or when your own mind decided on having you walk away. But that’s what you did. You couldn’t watch this. Couldn’t take it anymore. So you headed back to your tent.

The screaming, the shouting, the gun fire. It all continued for another ten minutes. But it stopped bothering you. You learned early on in your life, just to tune it out. Your hands worked faster than your brain did. Stuffing things into your worn down backpack.

Finally, after one lone shot fired, everything had gone silent. You didn’t care what was happening out there anymore. You were just glad all the noise had ended.

—————————————————————————

tags: @t0xicsl33p @ridlings

[ldrfanatic]

i could take away the salt from your eyes

prison era!daryl dixon x reader synopsis - daryl never learned how to speak his affections. (daryl dixon who's love language is gift giving) tw - cursing, no mentions of blood or gore, reader and daryl are both painfully shy and oblivious af wc - 2.07k my bookcase twd masterlist

daryl never learned how to talk right.

he could never say what he really thought. it would never really come out the way he wanted to.

he just didn't have the words.

before everything, it'd caused issues in his life nearly every day. in fact, the only person he really ever talked with for more than a few minutes at a time was merle.

and since the world had gone to shit, silence had become necessary for survival. daryl never really wanted to talk and he never really had to. for the first time in his life, it was actually beneficial for him to be quietly perceptive. and he liked it that way.

that is, until he met you.

daryl had gone to scrounge baby supplies for judith and found you trapped in the back seat of a car, surrounded by walkers. after daryl killed them, he was unsurprised to find you pointing your gun at him. afterall, the world ended. and if he were a woman seemingly alone in this fucked up world, he'd be pulling guns on people too. especially strange men with hunting knives and a crossbow.

what did surprise him was the tightening in his chest as the terrified look in your eyes. that paired with the haunting beauty of your face knocked the wind out of him.

he finds his body moving before he can think as he lowers his crossbow to the ground. then, moving slowly towards you like a frightened animal, he holds one dirty hand out towards you with what he hopes is an encouraging look.

"s'okay. 'm not gonna hurt ya."

after a few seconds of labored breathing, you allow him to help you from the back of the car, keeping his hand on your elbow as you wobble a little.

"ya bit?"

you shake your head, closing your eyes for just a brief second. it only takes you a few seconds to respond but daryl doesn't notice, too captured by the georgia sunrise lighting up your hair.

"just haven't eaten in a few days."

your reply is scratchy and daryl is reaching for his water bottle before you're even halfway done. daryl shakes his head as you take a small sip, using his index finger to lift the bottom of the bottle back to your lips. he finally takes the water back once you've dranken enough to satisfy him.

"daryl."

"y/n."

and from then, daryl was attached to your hip like a guard dog.

at first it was hard. it was hard to learn daryl's unspoken words. which was most of them. but eventually, as the archer kept you company on watch shifts and as you accompanied him on runs, you slowly learned to read daryl in the silence. you learned the twitch of his brow when something confused him. you learned the click of his jaw when something pissed him off. more than anything, you learned how observant he was.

the first time it happens, you mention something offhanded to maggie about your knife being dull. the next day, daryl is sharpening his hunting knife and sharpens yours without saying a word.

then of course, there's your boots. they were the only pair you'd brought into this mess and it hadn't exactly been a high priority to get new boots in between running and scavenging. even after coming to the prison, it sort of just fell on your to-do list.

but of course all it took was one groan and a roll of your ankle for daryl to appear at your cell door a few days later with boots that were about your size, give or take.

it got to the point where the others began to notice.

glenn teasing him as he scratches up his arms picking wild strawberries after you offhandedly mentioned missing eating strawberries while watching tv. (he couldn't get the tv, but he sure as hell was gonna find strawberries if it killed him).

carol smiling as she notices him tinkering with the same wooden box in his cell under a flashlight after he'd already said he was going to sleep.

everyone sees it.

everyone but you.

and daryl doesn't really know what to do with that. he's never verbally professed his feelings before. as much as he can recall, you don't really speak when you're together. daryl's quiet and you're okay with that. it's part of what endears him to you.

still, daryl begins to worry that it's what will stop him from actually being with you. and for the first time in his life, daryl feels genuine frustration that he can't just walk up to you and spill his heart out. he thinks fleetingly about asking one of the others for help, but that idea goes out the window when he pictures the teasing that would ensue.

so, he doesn't say anything. he just keeps dropping gifts at your door.

carol on the other hand had no issues being outright. and she had even less of an issue meddling with her best friend's love life. especially when it was blaringly obvious to her that you and daryl were starting to fall in love with each other.

the next time that carol has watch with you, she takes it upon herself to do some meddling. to her surprise, you broach the topic with her.

"you and daryl are best friends right?"

she clicks her tongue, adjusting the rifle in her hands with a contemplative shake of her head.

"he'd never put it like that, but yeah. more or less. what's up?"

you don't meet her gaze as you talk. carol has a certain maternal energy about her that makes it hard for you look at her head on sometimes.

"nothin', i've just been... wondering. he always," you pause, taking a deep breath as you finally turn to meet her gaze. the patient, understanding look in her eyes is so pure that it has your heart clenching. "he brings me things."

"what kind of things?" carol cocks her head to the side. her tone is innocent enough, but the playfulness that's dancing behind her eyes leads you to believe she knows more than she's letting on.

"all kinds. anything, really. Stuff that I mention to him, some stuff that i don't."

her brows furrow as she turns back to scan the horizon.

"doesn't sound like an issue. unless it's unwelcome."

"no!" you know that you're a little too quick to the defense, but at this point, you were pretty sure carol already knew about your feelings for daryl. "no, it's not at all unwelcome." you pause again, frustrated that you can't seem to find the right words this morning. "is he always like that?"

the snort that leaves carol is abrupt and you have to stop yourself from jumping at the sound.

"daryl?" her tone is slathered with disbelief. "never."

the duality of her words isn't lost on you. you feel your skin heat up as you take in the hidden meaning of her words. if daryl isn't normally like this then that means that he... likes you. and, though you can't be certain, probably in the same way that you like him.

the absurdity of it causes you to laugh out loud, garnering a confused look from carol.

"sorry. it's just, the thought of daryl liking me back." you don't even care that you've just confirmed your feelings, too caught up in the hysteria of the scenario.

there was absolutely no way that daryl liked you back. he was strong, resourceful, caring. a pillared member of the group who everybody liked. why would a guy that could bend the world to his fingers go for the girl who was making daisy chains with little kids in the courtyard of an abandoned prison during the zombie apocalypse?

carol rolls her eyes, playfully nudging you with her shoulder.

"so, what? you think he spends two weeks fixing an old record player for just anybody?"

her words suck you back into reality as she stares at you questioningly. when you don't reply, she clicks her tongue and looks back towards the horizon, rifle steadily in grip between both hands.

"just my unprofessional best-friend opinion."

the two of you sit through the rest of your watch hour in silence. it's not uncomfortable, just occupied as you turn her words over in your head.

the longer you thought about it, the more it made sense.

the constant "gifts". the way he'd casually search you for marks after a run. the way he always made your plate before he made his.

you felt actually stupid for not realizing sooner.

the second that sasha climbs up the guard tower to relieve you of watch duty, you're flying down the stairs and back into c-block, straight to daryl.

he's alone, sitting on one of the metal tables as he sharpens a few pieces of wood into makeshift arrows. he doesn't speak as you approach. which, you don't expect him too.

he nods in greeting, shifting over to make room for you to join him.

"daryl do you... like me?" your voice is hesitant and your heart pounds in your chest. you can't build up the courage to look at him as you ask.

the fluttery feeling in your stomach intensifies in response to his continued silence. daryl may not be a man of many words but he always answered you.

"you keep givin' me things."

"so?" his words are accompanied by a shrug and a grunt that you know means, 'what about it'.

"nobody goes out of their way for someone they're not in love with. not in this world." your words get quieter as the uncertainty builds.

maybe carol was wrong.

your breathing hitches as you consider the possibility that you have been reading this whole thing wrong. the possibility that daryl doesn't like you and that he was just being a nice guy.

but daryl is observant.

he notices the hitch in your breathing. he notices the anxious bounce in your leg. he watches as you stand, resigned that you've got it all wrong. and he knows that it's now or never. one work-worn hand slowly grabs onto the softness of wrist as you move to leave.

"wait." his gruff voice is tilted by an urgency that it doesn't usually harbor. enough of one to make you stop. though he can feel your gaze, daryl can't bring himself to look at you so he settles his eyes on threaded charm bracelet that he made you after finding a bunch of little flower charms in a quikmart.

"'m not good with words."

you nod, voice a timid whisper. "i know."

"though' ya knew."

"that you like me?"

you roll your lips between your teeth as daryl nods.

it's unspoken between the two of you after that. the words are never stated, but it's clear to the both of you, and to the others, that you're together.

but daryl knows that he wants to do something special. you'd told him it was okay a hundred times but he wants, no he needs, to do something to make up for almost making you cry.

after his run the following day, you're reading in your cell when he grunts his arrival.

there, looking entirely too delicate in his rough hands, is a small bundle of carefully picked flowers. they're tied together with what looks like a shoelace, the ends messily tied into a lopsided bow. it's not perfect, but it's from daryl.

you turn the small bundle over in your hands, a smile spreading across your lips as you turn to him.

"thank you,"

"'s nothin'"

he leaves without another word.

it's nothing. that was what made you really fall in love with daryl. not the gifts. but the way that he so naturally gave them. like it really hadn't been any trouble to stop on the side of the road gathering flowers and shoelaces to bring you a small piece of joy in the monstrosity of what the world had become.

time would take every gift he gave you. the berries would be eaten. the knife would grow dull. in a few days, these flowers would wilt. but none of that mattered because what you'd really been collecting weren't flowers or fruit or polished steel. they were his 'i love yous'.

sitting there, cradling yet another of his gifts to your chest, you knew you'd never needed to hear the words at all.