#daryl twd

[itslannabby]

ovulating

[vngelisse]

੭꣒ ˖ ──── 𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐋 ❜

pairing 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐱𝐨𝐧 & fem!reader !

c.ws ⠀ⵗ⠀ mdni ! explicit sexual content , porn without plot , graphic piv , creaming , creampies , a lot of body fluids , established relationship , cowgirl , subby!daryl undertones (?) w.c : 1.3k words

notes ꗃ this is just porn, okay? i don’t even know how to summarize it. 😭 btw, is this a scenario or a drabble? cuz it’s too long to be a scenario and… too long to be a drabble as well— me lleva.

i think daryl’s the kind of boyfriend who turns into a clingy mess the second you get on top of him—with your thighs spread wide around his hips, clamping tight as the velvety heat of your cunt stretches taut around the girthy base of his cock, thick and unyielding, flushed veins bulging along the shaft. the swollen head’s already buried deep in your warmth, nudging insistently against your cervix with every subtle shift to make more room for him. your slick folds are parted obscenely around him, puffy and glistening, weeping out with arousal in sticky threads that coat all the way down his length, dripping down to mat the coarse hair at his groin and soak the heavy sac of balls pressing snug against your ass.

“ngh— daryl…” you mewl, savouring with every fiber of your being how delicious the thickness of your boyfriend’s dick fills you to the fucking brim; and god, the sounds you make drive him absolutely crazy, so much he can’t help but feed your womb with tiny beads of pre-cum already—even though he has just slipped in.

his hands roam restlessly all over your body, sliding calloused palms up your thighs to grip your hips with bruising force, letting his fingers rest on your lower back to provide support to help you bounce in his lap—first slow, then increasing the pace until it’s fast and dirty enough to hear the wet, sucking slide of your pussy devouring him inch by inch.

“fuck—baby—” he groans, sounding wrecked, with a southern drawl thicker than usual and a desperate edge that you’ve hardly ever had the chance to hear before. his eyes are locked on your form, watching your tits bounce with a dark, hungry gaze, pupils blown so wide you can barely see the blue. “mmph, shit—”

your gummy walls ripple with each descent, clenching around the rigid heat that throbs inside you. he’s all tension beneath you, muscles coiled tight in his abdomen, the defined ridges flexing under your bracing hands as sweat beads and trickles down the valley of his chest, pooling in the dips of his collarbones. god, he’s such a sight under you right now.

a low, needy whine escapes his throat when your cunt chokes him with a powerful squeeze. his arms instantly fly to wrap around your middle like vines, yanking you down with him until your sweat-slick breasts flatten against his heaving chest, nipples pebbled and scraping deliciously over the sparse, wiry hair there. he takes the moment to bury his face into the crook of your neck, nuzzling the damp skin and parting his lips to drag hot, open-mouthed kisses along your pulse, tasting the salt of your perspiration with fleeting flicks of his tongue.

in the meantime, his hands didn’t stop moving, on the contrary—one slid up to cradle the back of your head, angling yourself to capture your mouth in a fervent kiss; while the other dipped lower to palm the curve of your ass, squeezing the soft flesh and spreading you wider to expose the slick juncture where your bodies connect.

“daryl…” you breathe, breaking the kiss, voice soft and fractured, your own fingers digging into the broad expanse of his shoulders, leaving crescent indents with your nails in the sun-freckled skin as you grind down harder. the mushroomy tip of his cock keeps grinding against that spongy spot deep inside your love channel, sending jolts of pleasure radiating through your core that have you moaning at the top of your lungs. damn, you truly hope rick and michonne don’t hear you in the next room, because if they do… Well, maybe you shouldn’t be thinking about this right now, your focus needs to be in him, not in a problem for the future you.

and as soon as your mind comes back from the embarrassing thought, his hips buck involuntarily to meet yours, driving his thick length even deeper and making your fluids gush with the motion. the creamy essence of your hole starts frothing at the base of his shaft, forming a messy ring of arousal where your pussy swallows him whole, filling the air with the obscene squelch alongside the rhythmic slap of your ass against his thighs.

“ya— ngh—! ya close, sunshine?” he growls, a deep, vibrating rumble from his chest that you feel more than hear—yep, just like i said, because the veined underside of his dick drags along your sensitive front wall at the same time he asks the question, stretching your entrance with a delicious burn that prevents you from responding.

well, you’re just as fucked out as he is.

his arms lock tighter around your waist, refusing to let even an inch of space between you. his legs shift to get a better angle as your arms snake around his neck, pressing flush against his body while enjoying the way he clings to you.

there are sweat slicks in every point of contact, his skin hot and feverish against yours, the musky scent of him mingling with the heady aroma of sex, thick in the humid air.

the scene looks obscene from any angle you look at it from, but well, you’re having the sex of your life, who cares if there’s a mess in the bed?

anyways, you quickly pick up the pace, riding him with desperate rolls, fluttering wildly around his pulsating girth each time you sink donw. he’s painting hard in your neck, absolutely loving how good your pretty cunt milks him from root to tip. his hands start roaming again, sliding up to cup your breasts and pull softly at the hardened peaks, which only drags a broken whimper in response.

“feels so good! ah—! daryl—! god, i’m so close…” you whine, head falling back slightly only for his hand to guide it back down with a grumpy grunt, keeping you tucked into him. he doesn’t speak, but his actions scream it—every flex of his fingers, every needy arch of his hips chasing deeper friction, the way his cock swells thicker inside you, oozing with pre from the slit to mix with your copious slick—he’s clearly about to come as well and needs you close to do so.

but not so many minutes later the coil snaps for you first—your abused hole spasming in violent waves, clamping down like a vise around his throbbing shaft and gushing hot and wet in a flood that soaks his groin in a sticky mess.

he follows with a choked, animalistic groan, slamming his hips up one final time to bury himself to the hilt. a tiny whimper escapes from your lips the second you feel thick ropes of cum erupt from his tip, painting your insides in warm, viscous spurts that fill you until it seeps out and dribbles in creamy trails.

once your orgasm has finished, your body collapses on top of his, though his arms don’t waste time in cuddling you tightly against his chest, keeping you safe and warm as you come down from the high, not letting you go for a second. his face stays buried in your neck, brushing soft kisses over your throat and all the way up your cheek.

and when you’ve finally recovered from such a powerful climax, your lips plant a sweet chaste kiss on his before trying to roll over next to him, though his strong arms prevent you from doing so as soon as he notices you wanting to wiggle free.

“don’t move yet,” he mumbles, voice hoarse, almost shy now that the haze is lifting. “jus’… stay like this. please…”

you smile against his shoulder, feeling him soften inside you with each passing second, but still keeping you full of love. “not going anywhere,” you whisper, threading your fingers through his damp hair as you melt into him, boneless and satisfied, feeling the steady thud of his heart against yours, knowing he’ll hold you like this for as long as you’ll let him. and as if to confirm your thoughts, he tightens his hold just a fraction more, like he never wants to let you go. ♥︎

© written by ﹫ 𝐯𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞 !

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[millermouth]

Could you do bicep choking 🌚🙈

Daryl Dixon x Reader Grip

Summary: You let something slip—just a thought, just a passing comment—but Daryl hasn’t been able to shake it since. A week later, the tension between you reaches a breaking point.  tags: smut MDNI 18+, awkward pining, pinv, breast play, praise kink. awkward daryl & fmc, bicep choking obvi a/n: hello my love! thank you so much for this request and for your patience. in a second ask, anon did specify that they meant Daryl bicep choking. fair warning, I did not reread this a ton / proofread much. please lmk of any mistakes/errors!

The sun hangs low over the trees, heat pressing in heavy as you weave through the abandoned gas station, boots crunching softly over broken glass. Daryl moves a few steps ahead, bow slung across his back, knife in hand, moving with that effortless quiet of his. Always aware. Always in control.

And his arms.

You tell yourself you’re just paying attention—watching his movements like he watches everything else around him, staying alert. But your gaze keeps catching on the shift of muscle beneath his skin, the way his forearms flex when he grips his knife, the lazy tension in his biceps every time he lifts his arm to wipe sweat off his brow.

You shouldn’t be looking.

But it’s hard not to.

Especially when he plants a boot on a fallen shelf, using his weight to pry open a rusted metal door. The strain makes his muscles coil tight, veins standing out just enough to make you swallow hard.

"Well?" His voice snaps you out of it.

You blink. "What?"

Daryl jerks his chin toward the darkened storage room behind the door. "You goin’ in first or what?"

Shit. You’ve been staring.

"Yeah. Right. On it."

You step past him, ears burning. The space inside smells like old rot and motor oil, a few overturned boxes scattered around. You crouch, rifling through some supplies, heart still kicking too fast. It’s stupid. You’ve been on runs with him before. But something about today—the heat, the silence between you, the way he’s been rolling his shoulders like his muscles are wound too tight—has you hyper-aware of every damn thing he does.

A tin of peaches clatters loose from a shelf, and you reach for it at the same time he does. Your fingers barely brush his, but the contact is enough to send a jolt up your arm, like static crackling under your skin. He pauses. Just for a second. And when he draws back, you swear you catch the flicker of his gaze sweeping over you before he looks away.

You can feel your pulse in your throat.

You should let it go. Should get back to work. But the words are out before you can stop them.

"You ever—" You hesitate, pulse hammering, but you push through. "You ever, I don’t know, choke somebody with your arms before?"

Daryl stops. Slowly, he turns his head toward you, eyes narrowing just slightly. His bicep shifts as he adjusts his grip on the tin in his hand. "The hell kinda question is that?"

Shiiiit. You fucked up.

But instead of retreating, you force yourself to keep looking at him, tilting your chin up just a little. "I just mean, you’re strong." A shrug, like it’s no big deal. "Bet you could hold somebody down real easy."

Silence.

Then, Daryl exhales through his nose, shaking his head. But there’s something in his expression—something flickering behind his eyes, sharp and considering.

He tosses the tin into your hands and mutters, "You’re weird." and walks away.

═════════════════════════

Back at the prison, dinner is quiet, the usual hum of conversation mixed with the occasional scrape of utensils against tin plates. Most people are too tired to talk much, a day of tending to the gardens, cleaning out cell blocks and keeping walkers at bay making everyone look forward to the slower evenings. The air in the hall feels thick with the kind of exhaustion that settles deep, making everything feel slow, heavy.

You should be eating, but your stomach isn’t interested.

Because Daryl’s staring at you.

You haven’t looked at him, not really since you got back, but you can feel it. That steady weight from across the room, the burning of your ears, it makes it almost impossible to keep your stomach from doing somersaults. 

You should’ve kept your mouth shut on the run. Should’ve swallowed the words down, let them die in your throat. But no—you had to go and say it. Maybe it was your stupid hormones, the way he seemed to speak to some primal part of you that evolution put in your dna, maybe it was just some stupid impulse you couldn’t control. Either way, it’s too late now.

Not like it meant anything.

Except, if it didn’t, why was he still looking at you?

Your fingers tighten around your fork, but you don’t move to take another bite. Instead, you stare at the food on your plate, willing yourself to focus on anything other than the way your face feels too warm, the way your pulse is pressing a little harder than it should.

Maggie shifts in her seat, nudging Beth’s arm. “You good?”

You blink, glance up. Beth tilts her head, studying you, while Maggie smirks like she already knows something you don’t.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost today or somethin’,” Maggie says, “The run go that bad?”

“N-no,” you stammer, already feeling the heat rise to your cheeks, “It went fine. Got a lotta good stuff, actually.”

Maggie hums, unconvinced, and you watch as her eyes flicker behind you when she says, looking back at her plate, “Looks like someone’s got a little crush.”

The fork slips from your fingers, clattering against the plate, “I do not!”

But your reaction is what does it– it’s too sharp, too defensive. Beth startles a little, but Maggie just stares, slow realization spreading across her face as you lock eyes with her.

“I was only kiddin’." she says incredulously, "I meant the grouchy archer sittin' across the room, he keeps starin’ atcha.” she shakes her head, eyes lighting up. “But I see I’ve been mistaken.” She leans in. “You like Daryl?”

Your stomach drops.

Beth gasps, slapping Maggie’s arm. “Oh my god.”

Your face is on fire. “I don’t—”

Maggie grins. “Holy shit, you totally do.”

Beth’s trying to stifle a giggle. You shake your head fast, like that’ll help, like it’ll undo the last five seconds, but it only makes Maggie look even more certain. You can feel the walls closing in, feel their eyes on you, but worse—you can still feel his.

It’s too much. You push your plate away and mutter a quiet, “Not hungry anymore,” before standing and heading for the stairs, their laughter echoing behind you.

You don’t look back, because if you were to turn around and find those ocean blue eyes still on you, it would be your undoing.

═════════════════════════

The book in your hands is old, pages yellowed and brittle at the edges, the spine cracked so deep you have to be careful when you turn the pages. You’re not even sure what it’s about. Something about a man lost at sea. Maybe.

You’ve been staring at the same paragraph for the last ten minutes.

It’s not that it’s boring. It’s just that your mind refuses to focus.

You shift on your cot, tugging the blanket over your lap, trying again, but it’s useless. Your brain keeps circling back, over and over, to dinner. To Maggie’s knowing grin, Beth’s giggles, and—worst of all—Daryl.

You squeeze your eyes shut, exhaling sharply. You should’ve never said anything. Should’ve kept that stupid thought locked away where it belonged.

A quiet scuff of boots outside your cell makes your stomach jolt. There’s a pause, then a hesitant knock against the frame of your open door. Not loud or rushed, more like a question.

You look up.

Daryl stands in the doorway, hands shoved deep into his pockets, head slightly ducked. His shoulders are hunched, like he’s already thinking about leaving before he’s even fully stepped inside.

For a moment, neither of you say anything.

Then, he clears his throat. “Didn’t know ya read.”

You blink. It’s such a small thing to say, but something about the way he says it, like he’s searching for an easy way in, trying to settle into the conversation, makes your stomach tighten.

You glance at the book in your lap. “Yeah. Helps pass the time.”

Daryl nods, his eyes flicking around the small space of your cell, like he’s looking for something else to comment on, something to delay whatever it is he actually came here for. Between your haphazardly taped posters and handmade streamers, he doesn’t find anything, so instead, he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, exhales through his nose, then finally says:

“That thing you asked me.”

Your stomach drops. Of course. You should’ve known that was why he was here.

Your fingers tighten around the book, but you shake your head quickly. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry if I made you–”

“You think I can?” he asks, huffing.

You frown. “Think you can what?”

His jaw tenses, and when he speaks again, it’s lower. Almost cautious. “Forget it.”

Your breath catches slightly.

He shrugs, but it’s not casual. It’s forced. “Ain’t exactly somethin’ you just let go of.”

Your chest feels too tight all of a sudden. You can’t quite place the look on his face—something careful, something guarded, like he’s trying not to let on that it’s been sitting in the back of his head since you said it. What went through his mind when you asked him?

You shift on your cot, swallowing. “Daryl, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

His gaze flickers, just barely. “Yeah?”

You nod, but something in the way he’s looking at you makes your throat dry out. He still doesn’t seem convinced.

“You think that’s what I am?” His voice is quiet, but there’s an edge there, frustration starting to rise in his voice. “Some kinda animal? The kind of man who would kill someone with–” he shakes his head slightly, jaw clenching. “You think I’m like that?”

The realization hits you hard. Your stomach twists. “Daryl, no,” you say quickly, sitting up straighter. “That’s not—”

He shakes his head again, looking at the floor. “Wouldn’t blame ya.”

Your heart kicks against your ribs. “That’s not what I meant.”

Daryl exhales, folding his arms over his chest, still avoiding your eyes. “Then what did you mean?”

You hesitate. Because now he’s looking at you. Not guarded, not distant—just waiting.

Your fingers press into the book in your lap. This is your chance to brush it off. Laugh it away. But you can already feel the heat creeping up your face, and Daryl is still standing there, still waiting, and if you don’t say it now, he’s just going to keep thinking the worst.

You shift slightly. “I meant…” Your throat feels tight. “I meant in bed.”

Daryl blinks.

His whole body stiffens, like his brain short-circuited, like the words hit him sideways and he can’t quite recover. His face is already turning red, slow at first, then creeping all the way up to his ears.

Your own face burns, and you clear your throat, pushing through the embarrassment. “I meant—if you’d ever choked someone in bed. With your arms.”

A silence falls over the room. A long, unbearable silence.

Daryl shifts, dragging a hand over his mouth. He scratches the back of his head, looks anywhere but at you.

Finally, he exhales, mutters, “Jesus,” under his breath, then huffs out a quiet, almost nervous laugh.

Your stomach clenches. “I know. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

He shakes his head, rubbing a hand over his face. “That’s—uh. That’s what ya meant?”

You nod quickly, still burning. “Yeah.”

Daryl looks at you for a second. His fingers flex slightly at his sides, like he’s thinking too hard about where to put them.

Then, after a long pause—his voice comes out quieter.

“You’d want me to?”

Your stomach drops.

Your eyes snap to his. “What?”

Daryl shrugs, but it’s forced, like he’s trying to play off how red his face still is. “I dunno. Just—” His mouth twitches slightly, like he can’t believe he’s even saying this. “Sounded like somethin’ you were real curious about.”

Your breath catches.

He’s not teasing, not quite—but there’s something in the way he says it, something light, something almost amused. Like he’s surprised at himself, surprised at you, but now that he’s said it, he’s not taking it back.

Your mouth opens, then closes again. Your hands are way too warm.

“I wouldn’t—” you swallow. “I wouldn’t not want you to.”

Daryl huffs out another soft laugh, shaking his head, glancing toward the hall like he’s wondering how the hell this conversation ended up here.

Then he looks back at you, eyes a little sharper now, lips twitching.

The heat in your face flares as he just chuckles under his breath, rubbing at his jaw before he steps back toward the door.

“Get some sleep,” he says, still smirking.

He turns, but not before you catch it—just the slightest flicker of something in his expression.

Something knowing. Something interested.

And when he finally walks away, you can’t do anything except stare at the empty doorway and try to remember how to breathe.

═════════════════════════

The past week has been unbearable.

It’s not like anything has happened, not really. No one has said anything, no lines have been crossed, but the air between you and Daryl hasn’t been the same since that night in your cell.

It’s in the way his eyes catch on you more often now. The way he lingers a little too long before walking away. The way your skin prickles when he’s nearby, too aware of the space he takes up, too aware of how small you feel in comparison.

And now, you’re on another run together.

“Last one went well,” Rick had said, shoving packs toward both of you. “Might as well stick with what works.”

The drive into town is quiet. Neither of you talk much, just like last time, but it’s not the same. There’s a different kind of weight, and you’re grateful that the open road on the motorcycle leaves little conversation to be said over its echoing roar.

When you finally reach an old pharmacy on the outskirts, the sun is starting to climb higher in the sky, heat burning your neck and the pavement glimmering.

Inside, dust clings to everything, thick in the air. It smells stale, like old paper and time left to rot. Shelves are overturned, bottles and boxes scattered across the floor.

You do your job, scanning for anything useful, but your focus keeps slipping.

Because every time you glance up, Daryl is there.

He’s not doing anything different. Not saying anything. Just moving through the space like he always does—quiet, efficient. But somehow, it feels like every single movement is deliberate. Like every shift of muscle under his skin is something you shouldn’t be watching, but you are.

The dust-covered counter at the back of the building gives you something to focus on, something to do besides thinking about the weight of Daryl’s gaze. You hop over the counter and crouch down, scanning the lowest shelf, rifling through half-empty boxes of medication, checking for anything still worth taking back.

A prickle of awareness crawls up the back of your neck.

It’s not the usual kind of awareness you get on a run, not the instinct that tells you someone—or something— dangerous is lurking nearby. It’s different. Warmer. Closer.

When you stand, a bottle of pills in your hand, you nearly jump out of your skin.

Daryl is right there, barely a foot away, standing between you and the only way out.

Your breath stutters. He doesn’t usually get this close without reason.

He’s blocking the exit, but it doesn’t feel like he’s trapping you—it feels like he’s stopping himself from walking away. His weight shifts between his feet, his arms twitch like they want to cross, but he doesn’t move, just watches you with something unreadable in his eyes.

Your fingers tighten around the bottle in your hand. “Wha—what’s up?”

Daryl doesn’t answer at first. He just looks at you, quiet and considering, something simmering beneath the surface. His teeth catch against the corner of his lip for a second, his fingers flex at his sides, but it’s like he still hasn’t worked out how to say whatever it is that’s sitting heavy on his chest.

Then he exhales through his nose and mutters, “Can’t stop thinkin’.”

His voice is rough, like the words have been stuck in his throat all day.

Your pulse jumps. “Thinking... about what?”

He shifts again on uneven footing, glancing toward the counter before dragging his gaze back to you. The moment stretches, thick enough to smother, before he finally speaks again.

“Since last time,” he mutters, voice quieter now. Your stomach flips. He shakes his head, almost to himself. “You got me all fucked up, girl.”

It’s not frustration, not really—it’s more like exhaustion, like he’s tired of pretending that something between you hasn’t changed. And when he steps forward, closing the last bit of space between you, your body reacts before your brain catches up.

Your back hits the wall behind you.

The old metal shelving is cool against your skin, a sharp contrast to the heat rolling off him. He’s so close now, close enough that you catch the faint scent of pine and sweat clinging to him, close enough that every nerve in your body locks up, unsure whether to tense or melt.

His arms come up, hands bracing against the metal on either side of you, and suddenly you can’t look anywhere but at him.

Your breath feels too shallow.

Daryl dips his head slightly, breath warm against your cheek, and you hear the way he inhales, slow and deep, smelling the remnants of the apple shampoo you used days ago. 

“S’not like I haven’t thought of ya before.”

A shiver runs down your spine, and your lips part, but you don’t know what to say. You can barely think straight with him this close, his voice this low. He smells of musk and leather and summer sunshine, something distinctly masculine and Daryl all at once. His words sink in, heavy and real, and before you can even process them, he huffs a quiet breath, shaking his head against the side of yours.

“Thought of ya a lot, actually.”

Your stomach twists, heat flaring under your skin.

Daryl pulls back just enough to look at you, and that’s when you see it—the way his pupils are blown, the way his breath comes slow and measured like he’s still holding something back. His jaw is tight, his fingers flex slightly against the metal, and you don’t know whether he’s waiting for permission or for you to push him away.

“Say somethin’,” he murmurs, voice rough like gravel in your ears. “Please.”

You reach up then, your hand trembling slightly as your fingers brush along his jaw, skimming over the uneven scruff growing in patches on his face. He exhales, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as you trace up along his cheekbone, down the side of his neck, feeling the tension there, the way his pulse beats strong beneath your fingertips.

“I think of you a lot too,” you finally manage to say, and it’s barely louder than a whisper.

His eyes open, still blown wide as they flicker between yours, then drop to your lips. His breath is slow, measured, like he’s forcing himself to hold back.

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” you breathe. It’s more than just a response—it’s permission, it’s consent, letting him know that whatever he’s thinking, whatever’s been running through his mind, you want it too.

And like you’ve just cut the cord that’s been wound too tight between you, he pushes forward, his lips crashing into yours with urgency.

You’re surprised just how soft his lips are, how gentle he tries to be, but the way he moves is anything but hesitant. There’s no testing, no waiting—he’s done holding back, done second-guessing. He kisses you like he’s been starving for it, like it’s something he’s wanted for too damn long, and you can’t help but act in equal fervor.

Your fingers tighten against his jaw, then slide up into his hair, gripping, pulling. He groans into your mouth, the sound low, wrecked, sending a sharp pulse of heat straight through you. His hands move without restraint now, gripping at your waist, fingers pressing into your hips, pulling you closer like the space between you is unbearable.

You barely register the sharp clatter of bottles knocked from the shelves as your back presses harder against the metal. Daryl doesn’t seem to care. If anything, the mess spurs him on, makes him more reckless, more desperate.

He kisses you deeper, tongue sliding against yours in a way that makes your legs weak, makes your stomach tighten. He’s breathing hard, fingers digging into your sides, body pressing fully into you now, until there’s nothing between you but heat and friction.

His lips drag from your mouth down to your jaw, then lower, his breath hot as he murmurs against your skin. “Been losin’ my mind over you all damn week.” His teeth catch on the pulse in your neck, not biting, just grazing, making you shudder. “Longer than that, if I’m bein’ honest.”

Your nails bite into his shoulders as he kisses lower, pressing into the spot just beneath your jaw, the one that makes your breath hitch. His hands are everywhere—roaming, gripping, sliding beneath the hem of your shirt. His fingertips brush against bare skin, warm and rough, and you arch into his touch without thinking.

“Daryl…”

He groans at the way you say his name, a quiet, broken sound that sends a deep shudder through his body. He presses his forehead against yours for a second, breath ragged, like he’s trying to steady himself but failing. Then his hands tighten on your waist, lifting you effortlessly onto the counter of the pharmacy.

You gasp softly, but he’s already between your legs, already pulling you flush against him, the heat between your bodies unbearable. His lips are on yours again, claiming, devouring, his hands moving up your thighs, squeezing, gripping like he can’t get enough.

Your fingers tangle in his hair as you kiss him harder, the urgency between you growing into something more frantic, more consuming. His hands slide beneath your shirt, pushing it up and over your head, and you shiver as his palms drag over your ribs, rough and warm.

His mouth leaves yours just long enough to mutter against your skin, voice thick with something wild, something unraveling. “You sure about this?”

Your only answer is to pull him back in, crashing your lips to his, fingers fisting in his shirt as you tug him closer, needing him, needing more.

That’s all he needs. His shirt is gone in the next instant with yours following suit, and the moment the fabric is over your head, his lips are on you again, everywhere. You arch into his touch, heat rolling through you as his mouth works down your neck, trailing over your collarbone, then lower. Each kiss leaves behind something electric, something you feel everywhere, and when he drags lower still, down onto your bare chest, his lips and teeth and tongue worship everywhere but where you want him most.

Your breath hitches, your hands restless, gripping at his arms, his shoulders, his hair—anywhere you can reach, anywhere you can pull him closer. He’s between your legs now, his body solid, burning against yours, his hands gripping your thighs, fingers flexing like he’s holding himself back.

You look down at him, ready to beg, but the sight of him wrecks you.

Daryl between your legs, his lips on your skin, mouth open, breath warm as he stares at you like he’s never seen anything like you before.

Any coherent thought vanishes the moment his lips close around your nipple.

A breathless moan leaves your lips as his tongue flicks over it, hot and slow, sending a deep ache curling low in your stomach. His rough fingers knead your other breast, rolling and pinching your sensitive skin in just the right way, his touch deliberate, like he’s learning you, like he’s memorizing every reaction.

You arch into him, pressing closer, needing more, but he keeps the pace slow, like he’s savoring every second, like he wants to soak in every feel of your body against his. 

His tongue swirls over the sensitive bud, lips tugging gently before he soothes it with another slow flick, his breath hot and heavy against your skin. His other hand stays firm on your breast, rolling, kneading, fingers rough with callouses as he works you over with slow, steady intent. It’s almost too much, yet not enough, and you feel yourself tilting between the two sensations, every nerve in your body locked onto the way he’s touching you, kissing you, like he never wants to stop.

You’re barely aware of your own sounds, the quiet gasps, the soft moans, the way your hands dig into his shoulders, trying to pull him closer, needing him closer. His mouth moves lower, lips dragging down your stomach, his hands sliding along your sides, gripping your waist like he’s grounding himself.

Then, just when you think he’s going to keep going, he stops.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, chest rising and falling, lips slick and parted. His hands squeeze at your waist, thumbs brushing slow over your skin, and he swallows, throat bobbing as he exhales through his nose.

“Turn around,” he murmurs, voice wrecked, thick with something dark, something unfiltered.

Your breath catches.

You do as he says, shifting, dropping your feet to the floor and gripping the edge of the counter to steady yourself as you twist in his hold. The air feels even thicker now, hotter, your pulse hammering as his hands slide over your hips, guiding you exactly where he wants you.

His palms press firm against your lower back, tracing down to your waist before his fingers hook into the waistband of your pants. There’s no rush in the way he tugs them down, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring every new inch of skin he reveals. The scrape of fabric against your thighs sends a shiver rolling through you, and when they finally pool at your ankles, his hands smooth back up, gripping, kneading, pulling you back into him.

A sharp inhale leaves your lips when you feel him press against you, his breath warm at the curve of your neck. His fingers flex at your hips, gripping tight, like he’s still trying to hold himself back, like he’s at war with the need running through him.

“Goddamn,” he mutters under his breath.

You don’t have time to respond before his lips are on your shoulder, teeth grazing your skin, hands gripping you tighter, pulling you flush against him. The heat of him seeps through you, burning into your skin, your body molding against his like you were always meant to fit there.

Then, slowly, his hand slides up.

You barely register the shift before the weight of his arm is curling around your neck, firm but careful, forearm bracing across your throat, holding you in place. The solid strength of his muscles—it’s everything you imagined, everything you tried so hard to ignore when the thought first crossed your mind.

A low, rough chuckle rumbles against your ear.

“This what you wanted, ain’t it?” His voice is gravel, wrecked, thick with something primal as his breath ghosts along your jaw. His hold tightens just slightly, just enough to make you shudder. “My arm around this pretty neck?”

His words send a shudder through you, pooling heat low in your stomach as your hands grip the counter harder. His arm is thick around your neck, a steady weight that makes you dizzy with want, and when he tightens it just slightly, enough to make you feel it, a whimper escapes your lips before you can stop it.

“Yes,” you breathe, voice barely there.

Daryl stills for half a second like he wasn’t expecting you to admit it so easily. Then he makes a noise low in his throat, something rough, something wrecked, and his grip on you tightens.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, his voice thick, warm, almost tender in contrast to how strong he feels behind you. His nose brushes against your jaw, his lips grazing over your pulse as his other hand trails lower, fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your hip. “What a sweet thing you are”

The praise sends a jolt through you, your breath catching, fingers twitching against the counter as he shifts behind you. Then you hear it, a belt coming loose and buckle clattering to the floor with the jeans he was wearing and suddenly you feel him– heavy and thick as he nudges against you, the heat of it pressing right against your slick entrance.

Your whole body tenses, then melts, nails digging into his arm where it rests against your throat. 

Daryl lets out a slow, shuddering breath, nipping lightly at the edge of your ear before murmuring, “Christ, barely touched you and you’re all wet. This all for me?” His hips press forward again, slow, teasing, and you let out a quiet whimper, pushing back into him without thinking. His cock notches into you then, and you both let out a sudden gasp.

“That’s it,” he praises, lips pressing against the shell of your ear, his voice low and soothing and coaxing as his cock sinks deeper into you. “You’re so damn good. Feels good, don’t it?”

You don’t think you’ve ever heard him talk like this before, soft and filthy all at once, like he’s pouring everything he has into the way he touches you, the way he holds you. You nod, swallowing hard. “So good, Daryl.”

His breath turns heavier, warmer against your skin as he pulls you back onto him, slow and steady, letting you feel every inch as he buries himself inside you. His grip tightens at your hip, steadying you, holding you exactly where he wants you, but the real weight—the one that sends a full-body shudder through you—is his arm, still firm around your neck. You back arches against him, leaning into the muscles of his forearm as he holds you into the crook of his elbow.

“There you go,” he rasps, his voice strained, wrecked. His hips rock forward again, sinking deeper, stretching you, and a ragged moan slips from your lips. His grip flexes, and he presses a kiss to the side of your neck, lips warm, tongue flicking against your pulse before he nips at it, dragging his teeth over the sensitive skin. “Knew you’d take me so good.”

Your nails dig harder into his arm, fingers curling around his wrist where he holds you, your breath hitching as he starts to move. Slow at first, testing, drawing himself out before pushing back in, each roll of his hips deliberate, each thrust pressing deeper, setting a rhythm that already has you unraveling.

His arm around your neck tightens, just slightly, just enough to make your next breath stutter, to make the heat between your legs coil tighter.  His breath is hot against your ear, rough and ragged, the tension in his body coiled so tight you can feel it thrumming through his chest, through the arm braced around your throat.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he groans, his voice raw, nearly pained as he rocks into you. "You don’t even know what you’re doin’ to me."

His hips move with slow precision at first, teasing, working you open, dragging out every sensation like he wants you to feel him, to know that he’s the one making you come apart like this. His fingers dig into your hip, pulling you back onto him, the blunt head of his cock pressing deep with every thrust.

"Been thinkin’ about this," he murmurs, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear. "Bout how tight you’d feel, how fuckin’ perfect you’d take me. You feel that, baby?" He drives into you harder then, pushing you flush against the counter, stealing your breath with the sheer force of it. "Feels better than I ever imagined."

Your nails claw at his arm, breath ragged as his grip tightens just slightly around your neck, just enough to hold you there, to keep you at his mercy. His hips snap into you then, harder and faster now that you’ve adjusted to the sheer stretch of his cock. 

"Shit," he groans, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against your jaw, sucking at the delicate skin before biting down, his voice going strained. "You like this, don’t ya? Bein’ held like this? Wrapped up in me, nowhere to go."

You whimper, pushing back into him, chasing the heat, the pressure, the way he’s unraveling you piece by piece.

His free hand slides down, dipping between your legs, his fingers finding you slick and swollen, rubbing slow, purposeful circles that make your knees shake.

"Fuck, look at you," he mutters, pressing his forehead to the side of your head, his breath coming harder now. "Gettin’ all worked up, takin’ it so damn well." His fingers flick over your clit, pressing just right, and you let out a broken moan. "That’s it, baby. Let me hear you. Been dreamin’ ‘bout these sounds."

His thrusts grow rougher, deeper, and the tension in your belly coils tight, too tight, everything building.

Daryl feels it.

"Yeah," he breathes, his voice shaking now, wrecked with how good you feel around him. "I know, sweetheart. Feels like your body’s beggin’ for it, huh?" His lips drag over your jaw, his hips pounding into you now, chasing that high. "Wanna cum all over me, don’t ya?"

The coil snaps at his words, white-hot and blinding as his arm tightens, stealing the breath from you completely. Your entire body goes taut as pleasure crashes over you, so sharp and overwhelming as your lungs scream for air. Your walls flutter around him, squeezing tight, and Daryl groans deep in his chest, his rhythm going sloppy, erratic.

"Shit, you’re milkin’ me, baby," he groans, his fingers moving to grip your hips, "Goddamn, you feel like fuckin’ heaven." 

He holds you, hips pinning you against the counter as he buries himself deep, shuddering against you as he spills inside you.

His hold around your neck finally eases, his hand smoothing over your collarbone, his lips pressing soft, lingering kisses against the side of your neck as both of you come down together.

"You alright?" His voice is quieter now, rough around the edges, but there’s something tender in it, something real.

You exhale shakily, your body still humming from the aftershocks, a slow, blissed-out smile creeping across your lips. "Yeah. That was… that was so hot."

Daryl huffs out a small, breathless laugh, pressing a lingering kiss against the side of your neck. His hands keep roaming, slow and absentminded, smoothing over your waist, tracing lazy circles along your hips, like he doesn’t want to let go just yet.

"Yeah?" He nuzzles into your shoulder, his lips grazing your damp skin. "Ain’t never tried it before." His voice is warm, a little smug, but softer than before, like he’s still coming down from it too.

You hum, stretching slightly against him, still pressed chest to back. "Me neither. Somethin’ about you, Dixon."

Daryl makes a sound deep in his throat, something pleased, something almost knowing. His fingers tighten just slightly at your hip, his lips brushing the curve of your jaw before he murmurs, "Ain’t gonna be the last time, neither."

“Promise?” you chuckle, turning in his arms to snake your hands around his neck.

Daryl smirks, slow and lazy, his breath warm against your skin as he tilts his head, letting your fingers slip into his hair. His hands slide lower, resting at the curve of your back, holding you against him like he has no intention of letting go.

"Yeah," he murmurs, voice rough but sure. "Promise."

His lips find yours again, softer this time, slower, like he’s savoring it, like he’s already thinking about the next time, about how he’ll take his time with you, about all the things he wants to do.

[thewalkingdilf]

quick 3am thought!!! this def isn’t polished so don’t expect any literary masterpiece😭 maybe i should elaborate and write something fr about this later

BUT,,,

thinking about old man daryl with a younger reader who is extremely eager and being an absolute brat about it !!

he isn’t exactly as young as he used to be, and his stamina clearly reflects that. so his new method? trying to tucker you out early on so he can finally take his time with you. fingering you, making you ride his thigh, anything to drain some of this energy from you— and boy, was he getting a mouthful for it.

“daryl pleaseeee”

“c’mon gimme your cock already… need it so bad”

“been waiting forever dare…”

“hmph. such an old man… didn’t realize you couldn’t handle me anymore…”

oh. that was enough for him alright. you think he can’t handle you? he’s starting to think getting a head start on wearing you out wasn’t such a bad idea.

—

after getting his cock driven into you at a brutal pace for what felt like forever, you finally begin to plead with him.

“p-please, dare… ‘m sorry… so sorry- mphhh, fuck, i can’t take anymore!”

daryl grips a fistful of your hair— not tight enough to hurt, but enough to pull you back toward him, his warm breath tickling your neck, “oh c’mon, doll. you needa watch your mouth with all that running its been doin’. the least you can do is take my cock real nice for me, yeah? ain’t no one teach you to respect your elders?”

[honey-and-halos]

Burnin' Up

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Summary: You try to hide that you’re sick, but Daryl notices your fever and makes you rest. He acts gruff and annoyed at first, but stays by your side all night, changing the cloth on your forehead, bringing you water, and quietly worrying while pretending he isn’t.

You knew you were getting sick before anyone else did.

It started as a weird ache behind your eyes. Then came the chill that clung under your skin no matter how close you stood to the fire. By morning, your throat felt raw, your arms felt too heavy, and every little noise around camp seemed to hit your skull like a hammer.

Still, you got up.

There was always something to do. Water to carry. Clothes to wash. Food to sort through. People were already stretched thin enough, and you hated the thought of being one more thing for everybody to worry about.

So you tied your hair back, pulled on your boots, and pretended your hands weren’t shaking.

You made it almost an hour before Daryl noticed.

He was sitting near his bike, cleaning dirt from one of his bolts, when his eyes caught on you. You were stood by the water buckets, one hand pressed lightly against the side of your head like you could hold yourself together if you just applied enough pressure.

His gaze narrowed.

“You alright?”

You straightened too fast. The world tilted for half a second.

“Yeah,” you said, voice coming out rougher than you wanted. “I’m fine.”

Daryl didn’t move at first. He just looked at you in that quiet way he had, like he was reading all the things you were trying not to say.

“You don’t sound fine.”

You forced a small laugh and reached for one of the buckets. “That’s because you’re dramatic.”

“Mhm.”

You managed about three steps before your grip slipped. The bucket hit the ground with a heavy splash, water spilling into the dirt around your boots.

Daryl was up before you even had time to swear.

“Hey.” His voice sharpened as he crossed the space between you. “The hell are you doin’?”

“I dropped it,” you muttered, bending down.

He caught your arm before you could grab the handle.

You looked up at him, ready to argue, but his expression shifted the second his hand touched your skin.

His brows pulled together.

“You’re burnin’ up.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m just warm.”

“It’s freezing.”

You glanced away, annoyed because he was right and even more annoyed because he knew he was right.

Daryl let go of your arm, but he didn’t step back. “Go lie down.”

“I’m fine, Daryl.”

He scoffed under his breath. “Stop bein’ stubborn.”

“I’m not being stubborn. I’m helping.”

“You’re about to fall on your ass in the middle of camp.”

You rolled your eyes, but the movement made your head throb. You tried to hide the wince. Of course, he saw it.

His jaw tightened.

“That’s it,” he muttered.

Before you could ask what he meant, he grabbed the bucket with one hand and nudged you gently but firmly in the direction of the house.

“Daryl-”

“Walk.”

“I don’t need to be babysat.”

“Then quit actin’ like a damn child.”

You shot him a look over your shoulder. “You’re very comforting, you know that?”

“Good. Maybe you’ll listen.”

You wanted to argue again, mostly out of pride, but your body had started giving up on you. Every step felt heavier than the last, and by the time you reached the spare room, your legs were shaking badly enough that Daryl had to put a hand at your back.

Not pushing. Not rushing.

Just there.

You sat down on the edge of the bed with a sigh, trying to make it seem casual.

Daryl stood in front of you, arms crossed, looking deeply unimpressed.

“Boots off.”

You blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

“Boots. Off.”

“You’re bossy when you’re worried.”

“I ain’t worried.”

“Right.”

He looked away too quickly.

You smiled a little, though it faded when another shiver rolled through you.

Daryl noticed that too.

He crouched down without saying anything and tugged at the laces of your boots. You watched him quietly, your fever making everything feel soft around the edges. The room, the light through the window, his hair falling into his face as he worked.

He pulled one boot off, then the other, setting them neatly beside the bed like it mattered.

“You eat today?” he asked.

You hesitated.

His eyes lifted.

“That means no.”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“Course you weren’t.”

He stood and grabbed the blanket from the chair, throwing it over you with less care than he clearly meant to. It landed half across your shoulder and half across your face.

You pulled it down with a weak laugh. “Trying to smother me?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

But his voice was softer now.

He disappeared for a few minutes, and you told yourself you were only going to rest your eyes until he came back.

Then you woke up to cool water touching your forehead.

You flinched slightly.

“Easy,” Daryl murmured.

The room was darker now. You didn’t know how long you’d been out, only that your clothes were sticking to your skin and your head felt like it was full of smoke.

Daryl sat beside the bed, one elbow on his knee, a damp cloth in his hand. There was a small bowl of water on the floor beside him, along with a cup and what looked like the sad remains of some soup Carol had probably forced into his hands.

“You’re still here?” you whispered.

He glanced at you. “Where else would I be?”

“I don’t know. Somewhere useful.”

His face tightened at that. “Ain’t useless.”

You looked at him for a moment.

He wouldn’t meet your eyes.

Daryl dipped the cloth back into the water, wrung it out, and placed it across your forehead again. His fingers brushed your temple, rough but careful.

You closed your eyes.

“That feels nice,” you admitted quietly.

“Fever’s high.”

“You been checking?”

“Had to. You were mumblin’.”

Your eyes opened. “What was I saying?”

“Bunch of nonsense.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He shrugged, but there was the smallest hint of amusement in his face. “Said somethin’ about Rick’s hat lookin’ stupid.”

You let out a breathy laugh, which turned into a cough.

Daryl leaned forward instantly, one hand hovering near your shoulder like he wanted to help but wasn’t sure how to do it without making a whole thing of it.

You waved him off once it passed. “I stand by that.”

“Yeah, well, don’t say it in front of Carl.”

You smiled faintly, but the tiredness was already pulling at you again.

Daryl noticed. He always noticed.

“Drink.”

You made a face.

“Don’t start.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Your face did.”

He helped you sit up enough to take the cup. You tried to hold it yourself, but your hands were unsteady, so he kept his fingers around it too, pretending he wasn’t basically helping you drink water like you were made of glass.

It should’ve embarrassed you.

It didn’t.

Not really.

Not with him.

When you were done, you sank back down into the pillow, exhausted from doing almost nothing.

Daryl adjusted the blanket around you. Again, not gently at first glance. But he tucked it close around your sides so the cold air couldn’t get in.

“You don’t have to stay,” you murmured.

He sat back in the chair, stretching one leg out. “Ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

“You’ll get sick.”

“Had worse.”

“That’s not comforting either.”

“Go to sleep.”

You turned your head slightly, watching him through half-open eyes. He looked tired. More tired than he’d ever admit. His shoulders were tense, his fingers tapping against his knee, his gaze flicking from your face to the cloth to the window and back again.

Pretending he wasn’t worried sick.

You knew better.

“Daryl?”

“What?”

“You’re being nice.”

He scoffed. “Fever’s makin’ you delusional.”

“No,” you whispered, smiling faintly. “You’re always nice. You just make it weird.”

He looked at you then, properly. For a second, all the gruffness slipped. His eyes softened in a way that made your chest ache more than the fever did.

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, looking down. “Somebody’s gotta keep you from dyin’ over a damn cold.”

You hummed. “So dramatic.”

“Sleep.”

This time, you listened.

You drifted in and out for the rest of the night. Sometimes you woke to the cloth being changed. Sometimes to Daryl shifting in the chair. Once, you woke to him standing by the window, crossbow in hand, checking the dark outside like your fever was something the whole world might try to take advantage of.

Each time, he came back.

Each time, the cloth was cool again.

At some point near dawn, when the sky had gone pale and the worst of the heat had finally started to break, you opened your eyes and found him sitting on the floor beside the bed, his back against the wall.

His head had tipped forward slightly, eyes closed, arms folded over his chest.

He’d fallen asleep sitting up.

You watched him for a while, too weak to move, too warm in a different way now.

“Daryl,” you whispered.

His eyes opened immediately.

He looked at you like he’d been awake the whole time.

“You okay?”

You nodded a little. “Think so.”

He leaned forward and pressed the back of his hand to your forehead. Then your cheek. His expression loosened by the smallest amount.

“Fever’s goin’ down.”

“Told you I was fine.”

He gave you a look. “Don’t push it.”

You smiled.

He reached for the cloth again, but you caught his wrist lightly before he could move away.

“Thank you.”

Daryl froze for half a second.

Then he shrugged, like he hadn’t spent the whole night beside you. Like he hadn’t checked on you every time your breathing changed. Like he hadn’t looked scared when he thought you weren’t awake enough to see it.

“Ain’t nothin’.”

Your fingers slipped from his wrist, but he didn’t move back right away.

His hand stayed near yours on the blanket.

Close enough that your pinky brushed his.

Neither of you said anything.

Then he cleared his throat and stood, grabbing the bowl of water like he suddenly had a very serious job to do.

“Gonna get you more water. Maybe somethin’ to eat.”

You settled back into the pillow, smiling to yourself.

“Bossy,” you murmured.

He paused at the door and glanced back.

“Stubborn.”

Then he left before you could see him smile.

[velvetdevastation]

Make Me Numb

pairing: Sub!Daryl x SoftDom!Reader

summary: You find Daryl after he had to kill Merle. Daryl wants to forget, to quiet his thoughts. When you come to check on him, only one thing crosses his mind.

warnings: Smut 18+ MINORS DNI, sub!daryl, softdom!reader, panties as a gag, riding, handjob, swearing, mentions of blood and violence, daryl is very vulnerable, dub-ish con, aftercare, unprotected sex (wrap it y'all), kissing, little bit of hurt/comfort, subspace

author's note: A request by the lovely @rafeysgirl5, I hope that you like this because I had a blast writing this!! It was my first time trying to write subspace and clear sub/dom dynamics, and I tried my best! Sub!daryl is so hot to me, so I was very happy to see this request!

The prison door slammed shut, echoing across the prison hall as Daryl stormed in. His breathing was shaky, eyes blankly staring ahead as he made his way to his own prison cell. The block was empty, as most of the group had left to go looking for Michonne and, coincidentally, Daryl.

You stood on the second floor watching him, leaning curiously against the metal railing. "Daryl?" His lack of response made you furrow your brows.

It wasn't like him to ignore you.

The truth was, he hadn't even heard you. His head pounded incessantly, pain shooting through his brain as he tried to grasp what had happened.

What he had done.

Daryl exhaustedly collapsed into his bed, pulling out his knife from the holster. He scrubbed at it with the side of his shirt, his brother's blood soaking into the fabric.

The sight was not pretty. He was covered in blood, and his clothing was dirty as if he had walked through mud for hours out there.

You approached his cell as you had many times before during those late nights when the prison was all asleep in their cells. Daryl was your boyfriend and had been since you got settled in at the prison a few months ago.

"Why're you ignorin' me?" You slid the curtain open suddenly, hand firmly on your hip. It was then that you saw his expression.

Numb, and just plain tired.

It was a look that you couldn't mistake for anything else. It was loss.

Your face fell as you came to the realization, dropping the curtain.

Stepping into his cell and moving to sit next to him, you grabbed the sharp knife from his shaky hands.

His grip on the handle had slowly loosened as you slipped your hand under his, reminding you that he was still there, just a little out of it.

Wetting a cloth with some water that Daryl had lying around, you let out a small sigh. The whole group had already been out for a couple of hours now, looking for him.

"Daryl, look at me." You spoke softly to gently grab his attention, but his face hadn't turned. Instead, his eyes were glued to the floor in a state of shock.

Moving between his legs, your eyes met with his. If he wasn't gonna look at you, then you'd move to make him look.

"That's better. Just wanna clean you up a little bit. Is that okay?" Your tone of voice was calm, solid ground among an uncontrollable river that was Daryl's life.

He gave you a nod.

With his permission, you gently swiped at the blood on his face. You had an inkling of who the blood belonged to.

He went to find Merle just hours earlier. Perhaps it was too late.

It didn't matter right now. You had to help him get out of his head before he'd hurt himself or do something he'd regret.

You moved to his hands, collecting the red stains onto the cloth until his hands were free of the grime and blood that he had been sporting earlier.

With every wipe, you were washing away the moment, the horrific things that Daryl had to do to survive.

Because he had to.

"You're doin' so good for me. Just a little longer." You ran the cool cloth up his arms, clearing the dirt and debris that he had collected on his trip. His shoulders dropped slowly as the cool water washed over him, his eyes practically looking through you.

"Keep your eyes on me. You can do that." Your firmness guided his eyes back into focus, watching the way you glided the cloth along his rough, sun-kissed skin.

"Listen, you don't have to tell me what happened." You started to sympathize with him, pausing when his jaw clenched tightly.

In an instant, your hand cupped his cheek. You tapped his jaw lightly, feeling the muscles in his jaw ticking. If he had clenched any tighter, he would have damn near cracked his teeth.

A shaky exhale left his lips as he reluctantly relaxed his jaw, his eyes searching your expression for any hint of a lie, an unkept promise.

"I'm here for you. Whatever you need, I'm here." You pressed a light kiss to his forehead.

And Daryl just about melted into your touch. His head fell onto your shoulder, pressed against the side of your neck as he took attempts at slow breaths. Your eyes widened a little at his sudden movement.

Daryl wasn't one to show a whole lot of affection in the few months you'd taken the next step with him. This must have really hit him hard.

He exhales shaky breaths, hands falling to his sides in resignation, still twitching with the memory of what he did, what he had to do.

He was just so done. If he could just have a moment where he didn't have to think.

Where he could just feel.

The warmth of his head on your shoulder began to spread as he lightly played with the bottom hem of your shirt. As you sat on a stool between his knees, you ran your hand over his back soothingly, feeling the way his breathing slowed.

Daryl closed his eyes tightly, his brain still flooded with images of Merle and of all the people the group had lost.

He needed to forget. If just for a little while.

Hands tightening around the hem of your shirt, curling the fabric, Daryl cleared his throat.

"Need you." He mumbled, voice broken and desperate. You briefly paused your soothing movement along his back.

"Need what, baby?" You hadn't called him that name yet, the surprise sending a wave of heat down Daryl's spine.

He should be calling you baby. He should be the one who's comforting you, protecting you.

"Touch. Need to feel." He stuttered out the words, placing messy, open-mouthed kisses against your neck in an attempt to show you how much he needed you, his breath hitching and shaky.

How much he wanted your touch.

"M'already touchin' you. Show me where ya' want me." You let out a quiet hum at Daryl's actions, one hand coming up to run through his hair.

Daryl pulled away from the crook of your neck and leaned into your light grip on his head. His eyes drifted downward towards his growing bulge. Words escaped him, his desperate eyes saying all that he needed.

Except that wasn't enough for you. You wanted to hear him, needed to know that he was letting you help him.

You slipped into his lap, smiling fondly at the way his breath hitched loudly in his throat, his eyes slowly blinking up at you.

"You need me to help you?" You cupped the side of his face. "Want me to help you let it all go?" Daryl nodded frantically, his chest heaving as his tired blue eyes watched your lips.

Just as you were going to ask him to speak, he did.

"Please."

Slipping your own shirt off and tossing it onto the floor, you pulled away from Daryl. "You've gotta be quiet f'me. Can you do that?" You grabbed Daryl's chin gently, watching his eyes frantically search you for validation.

He nodded against your hand.

"Good, take everything off." You helped him lazily slide off his vest and shirt. "Doin' so good." You whispered.

The praise made Daryl's head feel dizzy. His shoulders dropped as the anger and sadness melted with pure adoration and love.

His eyes traced your figure, absentmindedly shoving his pants and underwear off as he watched you do the same. He'd seen you naked a few times since you started dating.

Each time you undressed felt like the first time, the feeling of awe still pushing through.

Even now.

"Still okay with this?" You stood above Daryl, waiting for his words before you would touch him. Before you would give him what he needed.

"Need it, please." He begged, his eyes teary as he looked up at you from where he sat on the bed. His cock twitched at the sight of you, the way you looked as the sunlight just barely poked through the curtain that stood between the two of you and the rest of the group.

You were thankful that most of the group was out looking for Daryl, supplies, or farming.

Regardless, all sounds echoed in these prison walls.

"Good boy, thank you for using your words." You motioned for him to lie down, the heat between your legs growing by the second. He was so vulnerable, but he trusted you to help him forget everything.

And it was evident that it was working at least a little bit by the way his breathing was quick, and his hands moved to jerk his unbearably hard erection slowly.

"Thought ya' wanted me to help you? Your hands stay at your side." You climbed over him in one swift movement. Daryl, eyes closed in pleasure at the contact of your hands on his wrists.

You pushed his wrists down onto the bed to signify that he was to keep them there.

"M'sorry-" His voice was raspy, broken by desperate pants. "Please help." His body was stiff, like he was holding back every muscle from reaching up to take what he needed.

Any other day, you probably would have let him.

In his shaky attempt to keep his hands off of you, his attention waned. You noticed the way his eyes stared through you again, almost like he was lost in thought.

Daryl's mind wandered, replaying the day's events like he was living through it all over again. Jaw clenched tightly, you could see him becoming distant.

His brows furrowed in frustration, in fear.

You cupped his face in one hand. "Daryl, come back to me." Your voice echoed in his mind, pushing away the image of the blood, the horror.

In your other hand, you took a calculated risk and grasped his cock firmly. A low hum left his lips, his stomach tensing. "Gotta keep your focus on me, baby."

You give him what he wanted, and you start pumping him in your hand. Your hand dragged up and down his length slowly.

Daryl gasped softly at your actions, his hands clenched into fists. You silenced him by pressing your lips to his, kissing him hungrily.

Daryl's hips bucked up into your fist wildly, his moans muffled by your mouth on his. You were growing impatient yourself, your cunt practically dripping at the sight of him falling apart in your hands.

Your free hand reached up to run through his hair, which was sticking to his forehead as a thin sheen of sweat began to appear.

It wasn't exactly cool in the prison block, especially in Georgia.

When you finally pulled away from the kiss for some much-needed air, your hand sped up, thumb swiping the precum that was dripping from his cock.

A strangled moan left his lips at the sight, hips jolting up to meet your hand again.

"Fuck-" He bit his lip to muffle his groan, eyes glued to you, the pleasure pushing away the thoughts that plagued him. "Want to-" He was cut off by his own pathetic moan.

Daryl didn't have the energy to even be embarrassed; his full attention on you and how good you were making him feel with just your hand.

"Want what, baby? You want inside me? Wanna fill me up?" You purred as your hand paused its motion. He shivered at the loss of your movement, a pout spreading across his pretty pink lips.

Your voice was sweet and patronizing, but he groaned at your words anyway. God, he wanted it so bad he'd do anything.

Anything.

"Please, please-" The words died on his tongue as he watched you pull your hand away from his cock, swiping the precum at the tip of his cock that had collected from your delicious movements.

You gathered it onto your finger and placed it into your mouth, humming as you tasted him. Daryl turned into a whimpering mess, lolling his head back in frustration.

"Poor guy. You just don't know what to do with yourself." His eyes weren't on you as you spoke, shut tightly to try and get some sort of relief.

You'd soon fix that.

Lining yourself up with his cock, you sank down onto him, soaking cunt taking him inch by inch. Daryl's eyes rolled into the back of his head, his mouth letting out a drawn-out, pathetic groan.

One that echoed across the walls and outside into the cell block.

He was wrapped around your finger, just completely gone under you as you sank onto him languidly.

"Shh, can't keep your voice down, can you?" Your voice was a little more shaky than you'd like to admit, his large cock stretching you as he was buried to the hilt.

You hardly moved your hips, a small adjustment to make yourself more comfortable. Daryl let out another whine, his hips thrusting up without thinking.

His brain was numb, the only thoughts were his own as he silently begged you to move.

Daryl felt comfort in that fact. He was relieved that his thoughts were consumed by you, and that everything else in the world had faded away into dust.

"Should shove somethin' in there. Maybe you'll be quiet then, huh?" You felt the way his hips bucked slightly at your words. "Yeah? You like that?" A sense of confidence surged in you at his reaction.

Daryl let out a loud whimper at the sight of you grabbing your panties, the ones that you had tossed aside haphazardly.

You gently shoved them into his mouth, the taste of your pussy on them making him close his eyes and hum around the lacy fabric.

Excitement rose in Daryl as you placed your hands onto his abdomen, holding onto something before you braced yourself.

He could taste you on his tongue, the wet fabric now muting his broken moans.

You moved slowly on him, only moving about halfway up before taking him all the way back in your heat. The burning sensation only lasted a little while; the stretch of his cock was inviting and warm.

That was all Daryl needed to make his head tilt back, hair a wild mess from the way you ran your hands through it earlier.

Biting back a smirk, you continued your slow movements, watching quiet whimpers escape his clothed mouth. "Need it faster? S'that what you want, baby? God, you're so needy for me."

Daryl's cock twitched at your words, dripping with that condescension that made his heart beat faster. The feeling of your cunt wrapped around him, warm and squeezing him like that.

If you kept it up, he'd cum in a heartbeat.

Daryl nodded quickly, his brain barely registering his own thoughts, a fuzzy feeling settling in his body. "Please-" It was muffled, but you could clearly hear the word come through the fabric.

"Since you asked so nicely -" You leaned down to his ear, hearing a whimper from the man as your tits pressed up against his chest. Fuck, he was so sensitive to your touch.

"I'll even let you touch me." You whispered into his ear, and Daryl just about died right there. His breath hitched loudly at your words. Seeing you like this was one thing, but being able to touch you was another.

He was a wreck, a pretty pink blush spread across his face and down his neck as he let out a low groan.

And then you started riding him, your hips lifting up and then slamming down back onto him, your moans slipping out despite your efforts to hold them in.

Daryl's hands flew to your hips, fingers ghosting over your soft skin, his eyes fluttering shut as loud whines left his lips. His hips squirmed as you rode him faithfully, shaky hands finding your breasts and running his thumbs over your nipples.

You whined at his touch, your hands pressing over his. Daryl closed his eyes tightly, the pleasure driving him insane.

He'd been so pent up, so frustrated. God, he needed this so bad. Needed you.

And now. It was all gone; his worries had blown away. Each time you said his name, dragged your nails across his torso, or put your hands in his hair, he just melted.

Your hips slammed into him, watching how his stomach tensed with each drag of your cunt against him.

Slack-jawed, muted and pathetic moans slipped from Daryl's mouth without abandon now, his mind now completely dumb for you.

"You feel so good, baby. Doin' so good for me." You were shaking above him, your legs sore and screaming at you to stop. You leaned forward, adjusting your position to give yourself some more stamina.

That position only buried him deeper inside your cunt, earning a shudder from the man below you. "I can tell you're close. Let me have it-" Your words were broken, cut off by your own quiet moans as your own orgasm was quickly approaching, the familiar heat and anticipation forming.

"Gonna give me your cum? S'that what you want?" You could feel him tensing up, his orgasm building up. His eyes were tightly closed as his hands roamed your body, feeling up his favorite parts of you.

Your tits, your thighs.

The old mattress creaked underneath the two of you as you rode him, the bed shaking against the frame.

Daryl was so lost, so fucked-out, he hadn't even thought of a response.

You cupped his face in your hand. "Open those pretty eyes f'me." You were slowly losing it, low hums escaping your lips as you rode him, pussy taking every inch of his large cock.

He finally opened his eyes, glazed over and teary from the immense pleasure you were giving him. The experience of just feeling.

"Good boy, such a good boy. Wanna see these eyes when you cum f'me. Can you do that?" You watched Daryl squirm and buck underneath you, his eyes just barely fluttering open as groans poured out of him.

Daryl nodded, his eyes silently begging you to take it from him, to let him. Normally, he'd want you to cum first. He'd want to feel how your cunt squeezed him, milked his cock.

But he couldn't think straight, brain foggy and clouded as you took what you needed, as you used him.

Your pants became heavier as your orgasm came closer, fighting off the urge to cum for as long as you could. You wanted to see him get his release first, wanted to see him fall apart.

And fall apart, he did.

Tears slid down Daryl's face as his orgasm washed over him.

His jaw was wide open as his hips bucked up wildly into you, fingers pressed hard into the skin of your hips. You pressed your hands against his, holding them as his orgasm crashed through him and made him shudder as pleasure kept him a whimpering mess.

You rode him through his release, feeling the way his stomach flexed erratically as his cum spilled into you, quick sobs falling from his lips.

"That's it, baby-" You couldn't hold back anymore, your own climax hitting you from the sight of him utterly falling apart underneath you.

You grasped his shoulders firmly as you found your own release, legs shaking and spasming uncontrollably as a moan left you.

Daryl watched you with a clouded, distant expression, his moans matching your own. He looked beautiful like this, all teary and desperate for you.

"Fuck-" You whimpered, the feeling of his seed leaking out of your made you shudder as you held your hips down on him, grinding to ride through your orgasm. The sensation brought out pathetic whines from both of you.

When you came out of your orgasm, you gently slid off of him, hissing at the feeling of emptiness that followed. "You did such a good job for me, baby." You pulled your panties out of his mouth and set them aside, gently rubbing his jaw.

You wiped away his tears with your thumb, smiling at the way he watched you with puppy eyes.

Daryl melted into your hand, still shaking from the way you wrecked him. He was beyond words; the need for you to be close was overwhelming.

You grabbed the water bottle that was lying around his room and brought it to his lips. "Drink first, then I'll take care of you." You let him take a few long sips from the water and put it back onto the floor where it was sitting.

Daryl felt weak, as if he were weightless and completely under your spell.

You slid back into the bed with him, pressing your body against his. A thin layer of sweat lay on his forehead, hair sticking to it.

You gently wiped his forehead with the back of your hand, pushing his hair out of his face. "Ya' don't need to tell me what happened. But you need to know that we're going to get through it together."

Daryl pressed his face into your chest, not sexual, but in a comforting manner, breathing in the scent of your skin.

The sound of the doors opening in the cell block reminded you of the group's presence. They'd surely be coming in at any moment to ask a favor of Daryl.

You wouldn't dare let them. He'd done enough for today.

As the sun shifted across the concrete floor, you thought about how to move forward.

You just absently ran your fingers through his hair, brushing the knots out with your hand. "I love you." Pressing a kiss to his head, you felt him wrap his arms around your waist tightly.

"Love you. Thank you." He managed to mumble, eyes fluttering closed as sleep began to seep into him.

His head was empty, no longer replaying one of the worst events of his life over and over. For the first time since they'd even approached the prison, his head was quiet.

Taglist:

@gglittergoddess | @brideofvecna | @clussysposts | @eskalotte

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[daryling]

get me in that tent RIGHT NOW

[lustfelts]

。 🧷ׄ ⠀ ❛ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧. . . piv. language. idfk sub daryl?. my first attempt at writing something like this, this randomly came to my mind while i was watching the show. please be nice, i will literally throw up.

{💭} 𝐀 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐋 𝐃𝐈𝐗𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓. . . him managing to fuck himself into a pussy haze isn’t an odd occurrence, he even babbles at you mindlessly. your cunt is so warm and wet, how could he not. you felt like pure heaven to him, one that allowed respite away from the harsh realities of an apocalyptic world. 

“o-oh fuck, s’ tight,” he moans, his voice sounding like gravel as he keeps a sloppy rhythm. his gaze focused on where your tits bounce with every thrust, nipples slick with spit. daryl’s head spins, cock throbbing inside your gummy walls trying to fight off his release. he wants—needs—you to cum before he does, ladies first always. “you close?” he’ll offer you, like his balls aren’t on the verge of emptying in you. his fingers clutch at your hips like a lifeline, never wanting to be far from you. 

daryl who prattles, “fuckin’ obsessed with your pussy,” his eyes just as glassy as yours. It's like he can’t control the words leaving his mouth, saying things he wouldn’t normally say. his cock buried to the hilt, stuffing you full of him as your cunt practically strangles him. “please, baby, please cum,” he whines, pressing his face into your neck—his skin heated and sweaty from his relentless strokes. an almost pathetic whimper falling from his lips when he spills his load in you before you finish. 

maybe next time you’ll cum first.