Serino

17 I like Unicorns and older men<3 ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

[sillylerino]

Every time I bake I start to think up smutty Merle imagines. Which is why I burnt my cookies today.

[spacejjunk]

hi there!! i hope im not too late to grab a yummy slice!

🍕 can i get a thin slice of pepperoni, a side of wings (“they can't fuck you like i can”), and a crisp dr pepper pls!! :3 thank u!!

(no rush or anything negative if u cant do this request, thank u anyways! <3)🍕

i just want to be your only one

pairing: daryl dixon x reader

w/c: 2.6k+

warnings/tags: smut, age gap, jealous! daryl, unprotected sex, no foreplay we fuck like animals

masterlist // pizza party

The dress wasn’t anything special by old-world standards, but out here it felt like armor and temptation wrapped in one. Soft, faded blue cotton that clung where it should and skimmed your thighs with every step. You’d found it in one of the abandoned houses on the edge of Alexandria and spent an hour with a needle and thread making it fit—cinched at the waist, neckline low enough to show the delicate line of your collarbones and the soft swell of your breasts when you moved. Your hair was clean for the first time in weeks, falling loosely in the way you haven't worn since before the fall of humanity. A little color on your lips, a swipe of something on your lashes. You looked like you belonged to a world that didn’t exist anymore.

And every man in the room noticed.

The welcome party at Deanna’s was in full swing—lanterns strung across the backyard, music from an old record player crackling softly, tables of food that felt almost obscene after everything you’d survived. The group had scattered, trying to play nice, trying to pretend they weren’t still half-feral. You felt the shift the second you stepped inside. Heads turned. Conversations dipped. You weren’t just another survivor tonight. You were young, you were stunning, and the contrast of it in this fragile little bubble of “normal” was like a giant elephant in the room.

You caught Daryl the moment your eyes swept the room.

He was posted up in the far corner like always—leather vest, a half-empty bottle dangling from his fingers. He hadn’t bothered much with cleaning up. His hair was still wild, stubble dark along his jaw, boots scuffed and dirty against the polished floor. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. But his eyes… his eyes were on you like they’d been waiting.

That look.

The one he’d been giving you for years now, ever since the prison, ever since you’d grown into yourself under the worst circumstances imaginable. You’d felt the pull between you for so long it had become background noise— the way he always ended up on runs with you, the way his hand would linger a second too long when he passed you something, the low rasp of his voice when he told you to “stay close” like it meant more than survival. He wanted you. Always had. You saw it in the way his gaze dragged down your body now, slow and heavy, like he was memorizing every inch the dress revealed. Then he caught himself, jaw tightening, and looked away like the sight burned.

You tried to focus on the party. Deanna pulled you into a conversation about “contributing to the community.” You smiled, nodded, played the part. But it didn’t take long for the others to circle.

A man around your age—clean-shaven, easy smile, one of the construction crew—materialized at your elbow with two cups. “You look like you could use something that isn’t just water. I’m Lucas. You must be one of the new folks.” His eyes flicked appreciatively over the dress, the bare skin of your shoulders. “Damn. Didn’t know we were getting anyone who looked like that.”

You took the cup with a polite laugh, the alcohol warming your throat. “Thanks. We clean up okay when we have to.”

Another guy joined—taller, broader, the kind who clearly hadn’t seen real hardship in a while. He leaned in a little too close to be heard over the music. “Seriously though, you’re stunning. That dress is… yeah.” His hand brushed the small of your back, light, testing. “If you want someone to show you around after, give you the real tour…”

You felt it before you saw it.

Daryl’s stare from across the room was a physical thing. Heavy. Dark. His knuckles had gone white around the bottle. He shifted his weight like he was about to push off the wall, then stopped himself, running a rough hand through his hair. His shoulders were rigid. The usual quiet observation had twisted into something sharper—jealousy, raw and poorly hidden. When the taller guy laughed at something you said and leaned in again, Daryl’s jaw flexed so hard you saw the muscle jump even from here. He looked away, but only for a second. Then his eyes were back on you, burning.

It was weird. Daryl didn’t do jealous. He did protective. He did gruff and distant. But this? This was different. This was personal.

Your stomach flipped—heat and nerves and something dangerously close to excitement. Because you knew that look. You’d felt it for years in stolen glances and unspoken moments. The age gap had always been his excuse, his wall. You were too young. He was too rough, too old, too broken. But tonight, with you looking like this, the wall looked thinner than ever.

You excused yourself with a soft smile and a murmured “be right back,” weaving through the crowd until you found Maggie near the food table. She clocked your face immediately and raised an eyebrow.

“Maggie,” you said low, pulling her a little aside. “Can I talk to you? It’s… about Daryl.”

She followed you to the quieter edge of the room, glancing once toward the corner where Daryl was now staring into his bottle angrily.

“What’s he done now?” she asked, but there was already a knowing curve to her mouth.

“He’s been watching me all night. Every time one of these guys comes up, he gets… weird. Tense. Like he’s two seconds from breaking something. Or someone. I caught him stepping forward earlier like he was gonna intervene. Is he okay? Did something happen? He’s acting jealous and I don’t—”

Maggie’s soft laugh cut you off. She looked at you, then at Daryl again, then back, eyes warm and a little amused.

“Oh, honey. You really don’t see it, do you?”

“See what?”

She leaned in, voice dropping. “That man has wanted you for a long time. Always has. Even back at the prison, even on the road when everything was hell. The age thing? He thinks it matters. Thinks he’s too old for you, too rough, that you deserve better than some redneck with blood on his hands. But look at him tonight.” She nodded toward him. “You walked in lookin’ like that and every guy here noticed. He’s been standin’ there tryin’ not to lose his mind watchin’ them circle you. It’s eatin’ him alive.”

Your heart kicked hard against your ribs. The confirmation hit different when Maggie said it out loud—the years of tension, the way he always found you in a crowd, the rare softness in his voice when it was just the two of you.

“I didn’t think he actually…” You swallowed. “He’s never said anything.”

“Daryl ain’t exactly the talkin’ type,” Maggie said gently. “But he feels it. Bad. And tonight? With you glowin’ like that and half the men in Alexandria sniffin’ around? He’s jealous as hell and he don’t know what to do with it. You gonna let him brood in that corner all night, or you gonna do somethin’ about it?”

You glanced back.

Daryl was gone from his spot. The back door was just swinging shut. But before it closed, his eyes had found yours one last time across the room—dark, hungry, full of everything he’d never let himself say. Your skin prickled with the weight of it. The pull between you had never felt this sharp, this inevitable.

Maggie squeezed your arm. “Go on. I’ll cover if anyone asks where you went.”

You nodded, pulse racing as you slipped through the crowd toward the back porch. The night air hit your heated skin the second you stepped outside. Daryl was there, leaning against the railing, another bottle in his hand, staring out at the dark trees like they might give him answers.

He didn’t turn when the door clicked shut behind you.

But you felt the moment he knew you were there.

The tension thickened, electric.

And you took one step closer.

The porch door clicked shut behind you, the cool night air doing nothing to calm the heat in your blood. Daryl stood with his back to you, broad shoulders rigid under that worn leather vest, one hand braced on the railing like he was physically holding himself back.

“Daryl,” you said, voice sharper than you meant, the drinks from the party loosening your tongue. “What the hell are you thinking?”

He didn’t answer. Just took a long pull from the bottle and started walking. Down the steps, boots heavy on the gravel path, heading back toward the quiet row of houses the group had claimed. One of them sat empty—everyone else still not fully trusting this town to separate ourselves quite yet.

You followed. Of course you did. The alcohol made your steps a little unsteady, the hem of your dress brushing your thighs with every stride, but your voice didn’t waver.

“Don’t you dare walk away from me. Not after the way you were looking at me all night. Every time one of those guys came up to me, you got that look—like you wanted to put a bolt in them. What the fuck is your problem, Daryl?”

He kept moving, jaw clenched so tight you could see it from behind. A low grunt was all you got. “Ain’t nothin’.”

“Bullshit.” You caught up, grabbing his arm. He stopped but didn’t turn. “Maggie told me. Said you’ve always… felt something. That you’ve wanted me for years. Is that true? Because if it is, then stop acting like a goddamn ghost and talk to me.”

He shook you off gently but firmly and kept walking. You followed him right up the steps of the empty house, through the front door he left unlocked, into the dim living room lit only by moonlight through the blinds.

You weren’t done yelling at him.

“You can’t just stare at me like that—undress me with your eyes in front of everyone—and then ignore me when I call you on it. Those guys at the party? They were flirting, sure, but you… you looked ready to burn the whole place down. So tell me what the hell you’re thinking, Dixon, or—”

He moved fast.

One second you were still talking, tipsy and bold and frustrated. The next, his big hand was fisting in your hair, yanking you forward, and his mouth crashed onto yours.

The kiss was filthy from the first second. Rough. Desperate. All teeth and tongue and years of pent-up want. He tasted like whiskey and smoke. You gasped into it and he took full advantage, licking deep, biting your lower lip hard enough to sting. His other hand grabbed your hip, fingers digging in possessively, dragging you flush against him so you could feel how hard he already was through his jeans.

You moaned, the sound swallowed by his mouth. The alcohol made everything spin hotter, bolder. Your hands fisted in his vest, pulling him closer even as he backed you toward the couch.

“Been thinkin’,” he growled against your lips when he finally broke the kiss, voice gravel-rough, “that I’m too fuckin’ old for ya. That y' deserve better than some washed-up redneck who’s wanted to bend y' over since y' were barely legal. But tonight?” His hand slid down, yanking the hem of your dress up roughly. “Watchin’ them touch ya, smile at ya, try to take what’s mine… I’m done pretendin’.”

He shoved you back onto the couch. You landed with a soft bounce, dress rucked up around your waist, panties already damp. Daryl dropped to his knees between your spread thighs, eyes dark and hungry as he took you in—young, flushed, panting, looking like every filthy fantasy he’d tried to bury.

“Fuckin’ stunning,” he muttered, almost to himself. Then his rough hands were on you—pushing your thighs wider, hooking your panties to the side with two fingers and dragging them down your legs in one impatient motion. He didn’t even bother taking them all the way off. Just left them dangling around one ankle.

You reached for his belt but he batted your hands away, undoing it himself with quick, practiced movements. His cock sprang free—thick, heavy, already leaking at the tip. So fucking hard for you it made your mouth water.

“Daryl—” you started, but he shut you up again, this time by gripping the back of your neck and pulling you into another bruising kiss while he lined himself up.

He didn’t ease in.

One hard thrust and he buried himself to the hilt inside you. You cried out at the sudden stretch, the burn, the perfect fullness. He was big, and you were tight, and the alcohol made every sensation sharper, wetter, needier.

“Shit,” he hissed against your mouth, forehead pressed to yours. “So fuckin’ tight. Been wantin’ this for so long, girl. Too long.”

He didn’t give you time to adjust. He started moving—quick, filthy, relentless. The couch creaked under the force of his thrusts. Skin slapped against skin. Wet sounds filled the quiet house. His vest brushed your bare thighs with every snap of his hips. One of his hands pinned your wrist above your head against the cushion; the other gripped your hip hard enough to bruise, holding you exactly where he wanted you.

“Those pricks at the party,” he growled, pace brutal and perfect, “thinkin’ they could have ya. Touch ya. Fuck ya.” He punctuated every word with a deep thrust that punched the air from your lungs. “They can’t fuck ya like I can.”

The words hit you like a match to gasoline. You moaned loud, arching under him, nails digging into his shoulders through the leather.

“Daryl—fuck—harder—”

He gave it to you. Snapped his hips faster, deeper, the head of his cock dragging against that spot inside you that made your vision blur. The jealousy, the years of tension—it all poured out in the way he fucked you: possessive, rough, like he was claiming what he’d denied himself for too long.

You were begging before you even realized it.

“Please—oh god—Daryl, please, more—fuck, right there—don’t stop—”

He groaned, low and filthy, biting at your neck, sucking a mark just below your ear where everyone would see it tomorrow. “That’s it. Beg for it. Been dreamin’ about this pretty little pussy for years. Dreamin’ about makin’ y' come on my cock while you’re still young and tight and mine.”

Your orgasm hit fast and hard—alcohol and adrenaline and the sheer overwhelming reality of Daryl Dixon finally inside you. You clenched around him, crying out his name, thighs shaking. He fucked you through it, pace never slowing, chasing his own release with rough grunts.

“Fuck—gonna fill you up,” he rasped. “Been holdin’ back too long. Take it.”

He came with a guttural moan, hips stuttering as he buried himself deep and spilled hot inside you. You felt every pulse, every twitch, and it dragged another helpless whimper from your throat.

For a long moment the only sounds were your ragged breathing and the distant thump of music from the party still going on down the street.

Daryl didn’t pull out right away. He stayed buried in you, forehead against yours, one rough thumb stroking your cheek almost tenderly. His voice was quieter when he finally spoke.

“Shouldn’t have done that. You’re too young. I’m—”

You cut him off with a soft, drunk little laugh, legs still wrapped around him. “Shut up, Daryl. I’ve wanted you just as long. Now stop overthinking and kiss me again before I start yelling at you some more.”

A rare, crooked half-smile tugged at his mouth—the one he only ever gave you. He kissed you slower this time, deeper, like he was finally letting himself have it.

[sillylerino]

Chefs kiss

[spacejjunk]

Hi<3 first time ordering, sorry if I make a mistake. I love ur writing!!

Can I get a thin (season 1-2) slice pepperoni, a side of wings (you used to hate me, and now you can't take your eyes off me.) with a pack of cookies on the side, (how could I not be jealous? They’re drooling over you when they know you’re mine!) and a verrrry large Pepsi. No ice😏

It was between Pepsi or Dr Pepper🙈

she fuckin' hates me

pairing: daryl dixon x reader

w/c: 4134

warnings/tags: smut! dom daryl dixon, enemies to lovers, jealousy, possessive daryl, rough sex, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, body fluids, blood kink if you squint

masterlist // pizza party

The farm was quiet in that deceptive way only the end of the world could manage. Crickets sang in the tall grass beyond the fence line. The occasional low moan of a walker drifted from the woods, but it was distant- background noise for now. You sat on the RV steps with your knees drawn up, picking at a loose thread on the hem of your shirt. The Georgia night air still held the day’s heat, thick against your skin.

You shouldn’t have been thinking about him. Not again.

But Daryl Dixon had a way of taking up space in your head whether you wanted him there or not.

At the camp outside Atlanta, it had been easy to hate him. He was all sharp edges and silence, disappearing into the trees for days with that crossbow and coming back smelling like blood and pine. You’d clashed constantly. He called you mouthy when you spoke up in the group. You called him a selfish asshole when he refused to share what he’d tracked. Once, you’d caught him staring while you helped Carol with the laundry and told him to take a picture- it’d last longer. He’d just sneered, spat on the ground, and walked away. Mutual. Simple. You didn’t need his approval. He didn’t need yours.

Then the night came.

The camp had been torn apart in minutes. Walkers pouring through the dark like a flood. You’d been helping Sophia and Carol shove supplies into a bag when the first scream ripped through the air. You ran. Heart in your throat, lungs burning. A walker lunged from the shadows near the tree line and you went down hard, palms scraping gravel, its dead weight crashing on top of you. Rotten breath, snapping teeth inches from your face-

A bolt whistled past your ear and buried itself in the walker’s skull with a wet crunch. Strong hands grabbed you under the arms and hauled you up so fast your feet left the ground for a second. Daryl’s body slammed into yours, shoving you back against the side of a truck. His arm banded around your waist, holding you flush against him while he reloaded and fired again. You felt every inch of him- hard muscle, rapid heartbeat hammering against your spine, the rough scrape of his vest against your back. His breath was hot on the side of your neck.

“Stay the fuck down,” he’d snarled, low and vicious, but his grip never loosened. Not even when another walker came around the truck. He killed it too, then dragged you toward the RV without waiting for you to find your footing. “Move or die. Your choice.”

Later, after the worst of it, when the group was scrambling to flee, he’d found you again in the chaos. Your knee was bleeding from the fall, a nasty scrape that stung with every step. He’d shoved you inside the RV, slammed the door, and dropped to one knee in front of you without a word. His hands were rough but steady as he cleaned the wound with water from his canteen and wrapped it with a strip of fabric he tore from his own shirt. Blood smeared across his fingers- yours and the walkers’. He didn’t flinch.

“Stupid,” he muttered, voice gravel-rough. “Coulda got yer throat ripped out.”

You’d wanted to snap at him. Instead you just watched the way his jaw worked, the way his eyes flicked up to yours for half a second too long before he looked away like he’d been burned. Something had shifted in that moment. Small. Unspoken. He still didn’t like you. But he’d saved you. And when he stood up, he’d lingered half a beat, close enough that you could smell the sweat and gunpowder on him, before turning and disappearing back into the dark.

That was the night everything started to crack.

Now, at Hershel’s farm, the cracks were widening.

The group had scattered after the camp fell- some to the CDC, others drifting away to god knows where. You’d ended up here with Rick, Lori, Carl, Shane, Glenn, and a handful of others. Daryl orbited the edges like always, hunting, scouting, sleeping in the woods more often than not. But he was around more than he used to be. Watching. And it was always you he watched.

He still didn’t like you. Made that clear every time he grunted instead of answering or rolled his eyes when you offered an opinion. But the protectiveness had grown teeth.

He left rabbits and squirrels by your RV door some mornings with a muttered “Found extra” that fooled no one. He’d fixed the loose section of fence near where you liked to sit without being asked. And when walkers got too close to the perimeter while you were helping in the garden, he appeared like he’d been waiting for it- crossbow up, bolt through the skull, a rough “Watch your six next time” before vanishing again.

You hated how it made your chest feel tight. Hated that it was getting harder to keep the wall up.

And then there was Shane.

Shane Walsh had been circling since Rick came back and took Lori away from him. The loss had left him raw and dangerous, all false smiles and too-intense eyes. His attention had landed on you like a spotlight. At first it was small- offering to walk you to the well, brushing your lower back when he passed, telling you how “a woman like you shouldn’t be out here alone.” Then it got bolder. Lingering looks. Suggestions about “private” spots on the property. The way he said your name like he was already claiming it.

You weren’t interested. You made that clear with polite distance and short answers. But Shane didn’t take hints well. And with the way things were, pushing too hard could fracture the fragile peace the group had found here.

Daryl had noticed. Of course he had.

Tonight, the tension finally snapped.

You were still on the RV steps when you heard his footsteps- quiet, deliberate, the way he moved when he didn’t want to be heard. He stopped a few feet away, leaning against the side of the RV with his arms crossed. The last of the daylight caught the hard lines of his face, the stubble along his jaw, the way his hair fell into his eyes. He looked tired. Dirty from a day in the woods. Dangerous in that way that always made your pulse skip even when you wanted to slap him.

“Y’ shouldn’t be out here alone,” he said gruffly, not looking at you.

“I’m fine,” you answered, matching his tone. “Don’t need a babysitter, Dixon.”

He snorted, but there was no humor in it. “Didn’t say ya did. But that prick Shane’s been sniffin’ ‘round like he’s got a right. Saw him earlier by the barn. Y’ think he gives a damn about you? He’s usin’ you to fill the hole Lori left.”

Your jaw tightened. You hated that he was right. Hated that he saw everything. “I can handle Shane Walsh. I’ve handled worse.”

“Like what?” He finally turned, those sharp blue eyes locking onto you. There was fire in them. And something else- something possessive that made your stomach flip. “Y’ almost got yer throat ripped out back at camp. If I wasn't there-”

“I didn’t ask you to save me,” you shot back, standing up. The movement brought you closer than you meant to be. You could smell the woods on him, the faint metallic tang of blood from whatever he’d killed today. It should have repulsed you. It didn’t. “I don’t need your protection. You don’t even like me, remember? So why the hell do you keep acting like you own me?”

The words hung between you, heavy and charged. His eyes flicked to your mouth for a split second- so fast you almost missed it- before narrowing.

“I don’t like you,” he agreed, voice dropping lower, rougher. His hand reached out and wrapped around your upper arm, fingers calloused and firm, possessive in a way that sent heat flooding straight through you. You hated how your body reacted- how you didn’t pull away, how your breath caught when his thumb brushed over your skin like he was memorizing the feel of it. “Ain’t never said I did. Yer a pain in my ass. Mouthy. Reckless as hell. Don’t mean I’m gonna stand by and watch that son of a bitch put his hands on ya. Or any of ’em.”

He stepped in closer, crowding you back until your spine met the cool metal of the RV. His grip tightened just enough to make your pulse jump under his fingers. You could feel the heat radiating off his chest, see the scar that cut through his upper lip, the way his breathing had gone slightly uneven. Adrenaline and something darker crackled in the air between you.

“You got a problem with that?” he asked, low and dangerous.

Your heart was hammering so hard you were sure he could hear it. You hated him for this- for making your body betray you, for making heat pool low in your belly when every rational part of you knew you should shove him away. But you didn’t. You tilted your chin up instead, meeting his stare head-on even as your thighs pressed together against the ache he was causing without even trying.

“Yeah,” you managed, voice steadier than you felt. “I got a problem. Because one minute you’re telling me to stay the hell out of your way, and the next you’re acting like… like this.”

His jaw flexed. Conflict flashed across his face- anger, want, something he clearly didn’t want to name. For a second you thought he might let go and walk away like he always did when things got too close. But he didn’t. He leaned in instead, close enough that his breath ghosted over your cheek, warm and ragged.

“Get used to it,” he muttered. “Ain’t changin’.”

Then he released you like you’d burned him, stepping back fast. His eyes lingered on you one more second before he turned and stalked off into the growing dark without another word, crossbow already in hand.

You stayed where you were, back against the RV, pulse racing and skin still tingling where his fingers had been. The night air felt colder without him there. You slid down to sit on the steps again, wrapping your arms around yourself like that could hold the chaos inside you at bay.

You still didn’t like him.  

He still didn’t like you.

But as the crickets sang and the farm settled into its uneasy quiet, you couldn’t lie to yourself anymore.

Hating Daryl Dixon was getting harder every single day.

And somewhere out in the woods, you knew he was still watching.

The next day, you went looking for him.

You told yourself it was to clear the air. To tell him to back off, to stop with the hovering and the glares every time Shane got within ten feet of you. But deep down you knew the truth: last night at the RV had broken something open, and you couldn’t stop thinking about the way his hand had wrapped around your arm, the way his eyes had dropped to your mouth like he wanted to devour you before he’d forced himself to walk away.

So you slipped into the trees while the others were distracted with chores. The woods were thick with summer heat and the low hum of insects. You followed the faint signs he always left- broken twigs, scuffed earth- until you found him near a narrow creek, crouched over a snare.

He heard you before you spoke. Of course he did. Daryl Dixon didn’t miss much.

He rose slowly, crossbow slung across his back, eyes narrowing the second they landed on you. Sweat dampened the hair at his temples. Dirt streaked one cheek. The angel wings on his vest looked almost black in the light.

“The hell are ya doin’ out here alone?” His voice was already a growl. “Told ya to stay put.”

“I don’t take orders from you,” you fired back, stepping closer instead of retreating. The argument started the way they always did- sharp, defensive, circling the same old ground about danger and recklessness. But this time you weren’t letting it stay there.

You took another step until you were right in front of him, close enough to see the flecks of gold in his blue eyes, close enough to smell the earth and sweat and wild scent of him.

“You used to hate me,” you said, voice low but steady. “Back at the camp you couldn’t stand me. Couldn’t wait to get away from my ‘mouthy’ ass. But now? Now you can’t keep your eyes off me. You’re always there. Always watching. Acting like I’m yours to protect. Possessive. Jealous.”

His jaw tightened so hard you heard it click. He dropped the crossbow against the nearest tree with a dull thud and closed the distance in two strides. You didn’t back up. Not even when your spine brushed rough bark.

“Accusin’ me of somethin’?” he rasped.

“Yeah.” Your chin lifted. “You’re jealous. Especially of Shane. You hate that he looks at me. Hate that he tries to touch what you think belongs to you.”

Something dark and hungry flashed across his face. His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your wrist in that same iron grip from last night- sending a jolt straight through you. In one fluid motion he spun you and pressed you back against the tree, pinning your wrist beside your head. His other arm braced above you, caging you in. His body was suddenly everywhere- hard chest nearly touching yours, thigh brushing between your legs, the heat of him soaking through your clothes.

You could feel his breath, fast and ragged. See the way his pupils had blown wide. Your own pulse hammered so loud you were sure he could hear it. Heat pooled low in your belly, traitorous and undeniable. You hated how much you liked the way he manhandled you. Hated that your body was already reacting- thighs pressing together, breath catching, every nerve ending lit up from the simple fact of him holding you there.

“Yeah,” Daryl growled, voice gone gravel-rough and wrecked. His eyes locked on yours, fierce and unflinching. “How could I not be jealous? They’re droolin’ all over ya when they know yer mine.”

The words hit like a match to gasoline.

Your lips parted on a sharp inhale. “I’m not-”

He didn’t let you finish.

His mouth crashed into yours- hard, rough, claiming. There was nothing soft about it. Nothing hesitant. It was weeks of tension and almosts and the raw, filthy need he’d been choking down since the camp attack. His lips were demanding, stubble scraping your skin, teeth nipping at your bottom lip hard enough to sting before his tongue pushed past and took. A low, guttural sound rumbled out of his chest as he pressed closer, pinning you fully to the tree with the weight of his body.

One hand stayed braced by your head. The other released your wrist only to slide down and grip your hip, fingers digging in like he was afraid you’d disappear. He kissed like he fought- like the world could end any second and he was taking what was his. Wet, deep, filthy. His tongue stroked against yours, claiming every inch. When you gasped he swallowed the sound, then bit your lip again, soothing the sting with another slow, filthy drag of his tongue.

You should have pushed him away. You should have hated this. Instead your hands fisted in the front of his vest and yanked him closer. Your back arched off the bark, pressing your chest to his. A whimper escaped you and he answered it with another growl, his grip on your hip tightening until you knew you’d have bruises. The kiss turned even rougher, more desperate, like he was trying to brand the taste of him onto you.

When he finally tore his mouth away it was only far enough to breathe, forehead pressed to yours, both of you panting. His eyes were wild, lips swollen and wet from yours. A thin string of saliva still connected you for a second before it broke.

“Say it again,” he muttered against your mouth, voice shredded. His thumb brushed your swollen lower lip, rough and possessive. “Call me jealous. See what happens.”

You could still feel the imprint of his teeth on your lip. Could still taste him. Your heart was trying to beat its way out of your chest. Every inch of you was on fire, and the hard press of his body against yours told you exactly how much the kiss had affected him too.

You pulled him back down and kissed him harder.

You were still panting against his mouth when you said it.

“Still jealous, Dixon?”

The words came out breathless, taunting, your swollen lips brushing his. You knew exactly what you were doing. The way his eyes went black told you he knew it too.

Daryl didn’t answer with words.

A low, animal sound tore out of his chest. His hand fisted in your hair at the roots- tight, punishing- and he shoved you down hard. Your knees hit the dirt and leaves with a jarring thud, bark scraping your back as he kept you pinned between the tree and his body. The impact knocked the air from your lungs. You barely had time to gasp before he was yanking your head back by the hair, forcing you to look up at him.

“Open,” he growled.

You did.

He freed his cock with one hand- thick, flushed dark, already leaking- and slapped the heavy head against your tongue. No warning. No easing in. He pushed straight into your mouth, deep on the first thrust, until the blunt head hit the back of your throat and your eyes watered instantly.

“Fuck- there it is,” he rasped, voice wrecked. Both hands were in your hair now, gripping tight, holding you exactly where he wanted you. “Knew that mouth was good for somethin’ other than runnin’ it.”

He fucked your throat like he owned it.

Rough, relentless thrusts that made you gag and choke, spit flooding around his cock and dripping down your chin in thick strings. Tears spilled from the corners of your eyes, tracking through the dirt already smudged on your face. Every time you tried to pull back for air he yanked you forward again, burying himself to the hilt until your nose pressed into the coarse hair at his base and your throat convulsed around him.

“Take it,” he snarled, hips snapping. “Choke on it. That’s it- fuckin’ cry for me. Look at ya. On yer knees in the dirt like y’ were made for this.”

You were a mess. Spit and tears and dirt coating your skin. Your hands clutched at his thighs, nails digging in, but you didn’t push him away. You moaned around him instead- broken, wet sounds that only made him fuck your mouth harder. He used your hair like reins, controlling every movement, pulling you on and off his cock at the pace he wanted. Every gag made more spit pour out, coating his shaft, running down your neck, soaking the front of your shirt.

When he finally pulled out it was sudden. You gasped for air, coughing, strings of spit connecting your swollen lips to the flushed head of his cock. He didn’t give you long.

“Up.”

He hauled you to your feet by the hair and spun you around so fast the world tilted. Your chest hit the tree, bark rough against your cheek and palms as he kicked your feet apart. One hand stayed fisted in your hair, yanking your head back so your spine arched. The other shoved your pants and underwear down just far enough before he kicked your legs wider.

“Y’ called me jealous again,” he growled against your ear, voice low and dangerous. His cock, slick with your spit, dragged through your folds- once, twice- teasing your entrance. “Now yer gonna take every fuckin’ inch while I remind y’ who ya belong to.”

He slammed into you in one brutal thrust.

You cried out- half pain, half relief- as he bottomed out, stretching you wide around him. The burn was sharp, perfect. He didn’t wait for you to adjust. He fucked you like he was punishing you for every smart word you’d ever said to him. Hard, deep, frantic strokes that drove you up onto your toes and made the tree bark scrape your skin through your shirt.

“Mine,” he snarled with every thrust, the word punched out of him. “Pussy’s mine. That mouth’s mine. Y’ don’t get to let ‘em look at ya like that. Don’t get to let Shane even breathe in yer direction. Y’ hear me?”

You tried to answer but he yanked your hair harder, forcing your back into a deeper arch, and the angle made him hit something devastating inside you. A broken moan tore out of you instead.

“Say it,” he demanded, pace brutal. One hand left your hair to grip your hip hard enough to bruise, the other sliding up to wrap around your neck, pressing into the sides to choke you ever so lightly. “Say who y’belong to while ‘m balls-deep in ya.”

“Y-You-” you gasped, voice hoarse from his cock. “Daryl- fuck- yours-”

“That’s right.” He bit down on the junction of your neck and shoulder, teeth sinking in hard enough to draw blood. The sharp sting made you clench around him. He groaned at the taste, licking over the mark before biting again, harder. “Mine. Say it again.”

“Yours,” you sobbed, tears still leaking from the rough face-fucking, mixing with the dirt on your face. “I’m yours- please-”

He rewarded you by fucking you even harder. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed through the trees. His balls hit your clit with every thrust. One hand stayed in your hair, the other moved to your ass, spreading you open so he could watch himself disappear inside you. Every so often he’d slap your ass- sharp, stinging cracks that made you jolt and clench tighter around him.

“Gonna fill y’ up,” he panted against your ear, voice ragged. “Gonna come so deep in this cunt that you’ll feel me f’ days. Every time y’ walk past Shane you’ll remember whose dick ruined ya. Whose come is leaking down yer thighs.”

The filthy words and the relentless pounding pushed you over the edge fast. You came with a broken cry, walls fluttering and squeezing around him, vision whiting out. He didn’t slow down. He fucked you through it, chasing his own release, growling praise and possession the whole time.

When he came it was with a guttural snarl of your name, hips stuttering as he buried himself as deep as he could go. You felt every hot pulse of him inside you- thick, claiming, exactly like he promised.

Daryl didn’t pull out right away. He stayed pressed against your back, still half-hard inside you, his forehead resting between your shoulder blades. His grip in your hair loosened just enough to stroke the strands instead of yanking them. The hand on your hip gentled, thumb rubbing over the bruises he’d left.

After a minute he finally eased out, slow and careful despite everything. You winced at the emptiness and the ache. He turned you around, back to the tree again, and tilted your chin up with two fingers. His eyes were still dark, but there was something else there now- something almost soft underneath the possessiveness.

“Y’ good?” he muttered, voice rough.

You nodded, still catching your breath. Your knees were scraped. Your throat hurt. Your shoulder throbbed where he’d bitten you. You could feel his come starting to leak out of you already.

And you’d never felt more claimed in your life.

Daryl’s thumb brushed your swollen bottom lip, wiping away a smear of spit and dirt.

“Good,” he said quietly. Then, lower, almost to himself: “Ain’t lettin’ anyone else near ya again.”

He kissed you again- slower this time, but still deep, still owning. When he pulled back he rested his forehead against yours for a second, breathing you in.

Then the gruff mask slipped back into place.

“Pull yer pants up,” he ordered, though his voice had lost some of its edge. “We’re goin’ back. And if Shane so much as looks at ya wrong…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to…

You were his now. And Daryl Dixon didn’t share what was his.

[dollettesarchive]

౨ৎ‧₊˚ they'll message you after a post talking about how sad and ill you are too?? can they just be normal 🙏

[babydolllblogger]

[strawbewiebaby]

[sillylerino]

Og Tiktok video

NO BECAUSE WHO WAS TITI FEELING LIKEEEEE

GET HER OFF THE ISLAND

trinity is better then me I would have lost my shit the moment she said little girl😭

[sillylerino]

Might be posting some Daryl Dixon x reader and Merle Dixon x reader here soon👀 I’ll keep y’all updated<3

[sillylerino]

Does anyone have any season 1-2 Daryl Dixon smut fic recs? I can’t find many and I loveeee mean/sassy Daryl

Likeeee I need some mean bully Daryl smut pleaseee😿

[sillylerino]

Smash.😛

[pinkpalmdrive]

[fentanylaced]

[sillylerino]

Happy 17th to me🎉

[aronyflo]

[carnivorousbites]

Loml Michonne the woman that you are

[sncrlynwtms]

fandom etiquette as a whole died when people who didn’t grow up on fandoms became stans during lockdown, yes, but why am i seeing people openly mocking fics on twitter. why am i seeing screenshots of fics with captions like “bro what is this 😭.” why am i seeing people mock fic writers for not knowing how sports or theater or college or any other organization operates in the real world.

“college is absolutely nothing like this” “why are we writing four people on the team scoring a hat trick in one game” “so tech work is nothing like this, hope that helps!”

if you don’t like a fic, and if you can’t suspend your belief enough to enjoy a fic that exaggerates or ignores real-world orgs, you don’t have to read it. you don’t have to screenshot it and put it on blast for twitter. you don’t have to post a link to it in the replies. the back button is literally there on your phone. it’s not giving baby’s first fandom anymore, it’s giving entitled asshole and it isn’t as cute as you think it is.

[kauniswarmwinterintojisarms]

I can hear him yelling NO just looking at this picture. Guess how many times I've rewatched the first season... Photo not mine, credits to the maker :)

[sillylerino]

My spirit animal