#twd drabble

[carbonfiction]

Cruel to be kind

Summary: the one where you realize something about Shane's habbits.

Masterlist

Warnings: smutty themes from the start; set as shane begins to change his personality in the early seasons, indescript mentions of piv sex, blowjobs/throat fucks, pussy spanks and fem!recieving oral. Mean!shane vibes lowkey

Something you've noticed about Shane is that he's kindest after he's cruel.

He might've fucked you down on the forrest floor, twigs and leaves getting caught in your hair, but his apology after was sweet. He'd pulled you into his lap, softening cock still nestled into your gummy walls leaking pearly cum, gently pulling free the greenery. His thumb careful, wet with spit, as it swiped the few streaks of dirt from your skin.

"S' make it all better hm? Get my girl nice n' clean"

He was the same again when he'd pushed you to your knees against a tree, knees rubbed raw, as he'd bullied his way into your throat. Your head had bumped against bark, an ache forming quickly. But Shane hadn't stopped, hadn't slowed, hell hardly noticed as he fucked his way to spilling down your throat. You were covered in spit, lips and cheeks shiney with it after deep retches that left you drooling. Not to mention the soggy slaps against your cheek with his cock as he angled you to work his balls. Shane had cleaned you up after though, cooing quietly, swiping away fat tears with his own shirt.

"Did so good baby, s' good. Lookin all pretty when you get messy."

Then there was that time you'd made a misjudgment, put yourself in danger and he'd spanked your poor cunt raw.

You couldn't move, hands bound against your spine, body dropped over his lap. You couldn't squeal either; not wanting the rest of the camp to hear the second, more punishing, part of his chastisement. Your pussy drooled by the time he was done, firey hot and swollen with a sick kind of need. Pitiful tears rolled silently down your cheeks, soon kissed away by his lips.

"Nawh shhh shh, s' alright. Poor things all tonight.. S' mean aint i"

It hurt badly, but he'd laid you down after, untied you with a guilty glimmer in his eye. Shane had soon wiggled his way between your thighs again then, this time in apology, tongue flicking out in broad laps against needy flesh. He licked and kissed you down there, pussy sore and swollen as he'd lavished attention to your achey little clit he'd been the one to abuse.

"Awh there she is.. Theres my baby. Gon' make it all better. Shaneys gotcha"

That was just Shane now it seemed. Changed- changing- with each day in a world with no rules left to follow. He wasn't bad, Wasn't mean, not before all this anyway.

But that was life now.. And you take his cruelty first if it ment being back in his arms for a little while. You'd bask in that fleeting kindness, In the gentle touches and honyed words that come after the punishing ones, because deep down that was still your Shane.

The one before the world and he lost its mind.

[konigslittleliebling]

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢 drabble : : wherever you will go.

FANDOM : : the walking dead

PAIRING : : daryl dixon x female reader (platonic/romantic)

CONTENTS : : reunion , short n sweet :)

GENRE : : fluff & humor

NOTE : : just a lil silly something i thought up. . . no idea what this is really </3

SONG : : wherever you will go — the calling.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢 : : i. more daryl fics ii. mlist menu iii. navi

“psh, figures.” you grumble, dropping the empty granola bar box at your feet. your stomach growls in protest and you rub it solemnly, then press on to peruse the other shelves.

nothingness litters them—save for dust bunnies and bugs. a certain someone you used to know would snatch up one of those grubs and chow down on it as if it were a tex-mex. you shiver at the thought and continue aimlessly, poking your head around every aisle; but somebody else had the same idea, clearly. each one has been ransacked, and you curse whoever got here first.

with a weighted sigh, you heave yourself against the empty alcohol fridge and slide down it. the boniness of your ass against the tiled floor really drives your hunger home. that, and your skinny bitch insecurities.

it’s then that your wallowing is interrupted by the doors creaking on their rusted hinges. funny, your joints make the same noise.

anchoring yourself closer to the unit behind you, your hand gravitates to the knife at your hip. the entourage of footsteps that follow are calculated and cautious—the distant sound of instructive whispers rolling across the empty store. well, it was empty.

you bide your time—fingers itching to spring into action and unsheathe your blade; but you’re lethargic, hunger rioting within you. your hearing isn’t so ignorant, though; so when the click of a gun’s safety flips beside your ear, you spring onto your haunches.

“don’t.” the wielder warns. “what’s your name?”

you glare up at them, frozen in a rather uncomfortable position. “you first, highwayman.”

they tilt their head exactly 45 degrees. it’s almost funny, except for the other 45 staring you down. “name.”

“why? so you can carve it into my headstone? just get it over with.” you gripe, a little surprised by your own brass. might as well go out wittily, you suppose.

they take a step closer, purposeful yet slightly wary. “how many walkers have you killed?”

your face scrunches, but that might just be the thigh-burn. “the fuck is a walker?”

they adjust the gun in their hand, expression twitching irately. as their lips part to respond, a gruff voice that isn’t theirs but prevails all the more familiar, halts their tongue.

“leave ‘er be.”

you both turn toward it, and there, behind the glide of an-also-familiar crossbow’s limb, peaks a pair of blue eyes—the home where you hung your hat. they’re looking beyond you to confront billy the kid fiercely, and far narrower than you remember.

“you know her?” asks dummy, the eighth dwarf.

“uh-huh.” the former leans forward on one bent leg, stirrup raised. “put’cha gun down, man.”

‘man’ observes the way his arms flex—stance unyielding. “she good?” he looks between you. “ain’t gonna try anything funny?”

don’t count on it.

“wouldn’t count on it.”

aw, jinx.

after a minute, the cylinder of the man’s barrel disappears from in front of your face. as it does, your white knight’s crossbow lowers its aim from his face.

those blue eyes slide to you, then; unreadable.

a cheesy grin splits your face. “daryl dixon, is that really you?”

he grunts with a clipped nod of his head, hand gesturing. “just gonna sit there?”

but when you launch yourself to your feet, some other bozo joins the party.

“woah, woah, woah!” he skids to a stop at the end of the adjacent aisle, gun raised.

daryl’s crossbow flies upward again. “aye, get back!”

gunman numéro uno raises a hand. “easy, now—”

“what the hell?” the moment-ruiner who could pass for twelve scans you up and down, then glances quizzically at daryl. “she was coming at you!”

“glenn, they know each other.” diplomat derek tells him, inching forward.

glenn eye-darts you, the grip on his gun loosening. “wait, what?”

you roll your eyes. “if i give my friend here a hug, should i expect a bullet in the back?”

neither utter a word, probably don’t dare. not while the shaggy-haired archer has the beak of a blood-encrusted bolt pointed at them, anyway.

and no answer is good, right?

with a scoff, you make your way toward daryl who still has glenn pinned beneath a hard stare, watching him like a hawk. “your turn, dumbass. put it down.”

daryl looks at you sidelong, then lets his crossbow drop to his side. “a’right, c’mere.”

finally, you close the distance and leap into him, winding your arms around his neck. after a second, his crossbow clatters to the floor and his arms wrap around your waist.

behind you, glenn shuffles over to rick. “what am i witnessing right now? is he. . . hugging her?”

rick shakes his head, aghast.

“does this mean we have to take her back with us? are we gonna have. . . two of ‘em?”

rick squeezes the bridge of his nose. “i’m gonna need some air before i tackle that question.”

[vngelisse]

💭 . ۶ৎ 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐍 𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐇 ❜

pairing 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐱𝐨𝐧 & gn!reader !

i feel like daryl’s arms aren’t just strong, hot members—they’re home. those thick, scarred biceps, built from years of pulling back that crossbow string and swinging whatever weapon kept him alive, are the safest place left in this whole broken world. you love how they look, sure —the way the veins stand out when he flexes, the way the tan skin stretches over hard muscle, the way they make him seem all rough and unreal and so damn attractive every time he does something with them, makes your heart race— but it’s more than that. when he wraps them around you, pulling you close after a long day on watch or a run gone wrong, everything else fades around you. the walkers, the fear, the endless fights—it all quiets because you know, deep down, that nothing can touch you here.

he’s noticed how you cling to them, how your fingers always trace the ridges, squeezing to make sure they’re real and not just some kind of dirty fantasy you’d made up by yourself. he never says much when you do that, just huffs softly and holds you tighter, but you can tell he gets it. daryl’s not big on words —never has, actually— but his actions and services scream it even though he never expresses them directly: as long as you’re in his arms, he’ll protect you with everything he’s got. those biceps that could snap a walker’s neck without breaking a sweat? they’re caring with you, cradling you like you’re the most precious thing gods could have created in the world. and when you bury your face in the crook of his arm, breathing him in, he rests his chin on your head and murmurs, “gotcha, sunshine. always.”

it’s heartwarming in the most dizzying sense, the way he makes you feel untouchable and loved in that quiet, fierce daryl way. his arms aren’t just hot—they’re your safe place, forever.

© written by ﹫ 𝐯𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞 !

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[sugurusthroatcurses]

Kissing Daryl Dixon until he got used to it was kinda your thing.

The first time was a kiss on his temple. He had just finished a long run and came back in one piece. He got you a snack that you had been mentioning you missed. Hugging and kissing him only seemed like the appropriate thing to do, right?

“Ya ain’ have ta do that.” He gives that signature confused and shy look that he tries to make look like stoicism.

The next few come about by short passings of one another. You cross paths on your way to swap shifts? A little kiss on his cheek doesn’t hurt anyone.

“Wha’s yer game?” He lets you connect your lips to his face before pulling away.

“No game.” You shrug and go on your merry way.

Every time you pass, he unconsciously slows down and gets a bit closer, waiting for the tender feel of your kisses on him.

Upon visiting him while he was working on his bike, you planted small kisses around his face which he never once pulled away from.

“Ain’ ya got better things ta do? Quit buggin’ me.” He ate his words when he turned his head in the direction you placed little kisses.

He makes a sour face and like you’ve offended him when you actually do stop.

“No body told ya ta do that.” He looks away.

As you sit he looks at you expectantly.

“What?”

“Y’ain’ gonna… do yer dumb lil’ thing?”

“Do ya want me to?”

“Ain’ say all ‘at.” Daryl knows deep down he really wants that, but he can’t bring himself to say it out loud.

“You’re a confusing man, Daryl Dixon.” You move to kiss his cheek but he goes to look at you, accidentally connecting in a kiss.

“…”

“…I-”

“Don’t.”

Daryl wouldn’t let you bring it up since then. However… he did let it happen again. Now every time you visited him in his little area, he turned his face toward you in silent hoping you’ll give him another kiss.

His fist grasps your shirt each time, maybe hoping for a bit longer or just one more.

Eventually it turns into a daily little make out routine.

“Daryl.” You giggle against his lips.

“Mm?”

“What’s this little thing we’ve got going?” You ask, your hand pausing in his hair.

“Ain’ got no lil’ thing.”

“Oh… we don’t?” You feel your heart drop.

He scratches his neck. “Nothin’ lil’ ‘bout it.”

Your eyes light up, delighted by the answer that’s as good as you’ll ever get from Daryl friggin’ Dixon. “Really???”

“Don’ go causin’ a scene now.”

Daryl tries keeping a composed facade while you frantically kiss his cheek but he can’t.

“My Daryl.”

“Y-Yeah, whatever.”

—

XO

[baseballbitch116]

Home ~ DD Drabble

Prompt: Returning home to Daryl

Word Count: 729

Masterlist

Send Me A Request! | Support My Blog | Coming Soon

You were looking for Daryl after having just returned back from the Hilltop literally moments ago. You stopped at your shared house only to look for him, and having found it empty, left your bag there and took off in search of him. Carol said that he was here, as he was helping fix up the wall only an hour ago. So he was around here somewhere.

A trickle of sweat dripped down your chest as the hot sun beamed down on you relentlessly, making you need to squint your eyes to see who was approaching you.

"Hey, you're back!" Spencer grins as he gets closer.

"Yeah, thankfully. Couldn't stand one more minute of Gregory," you chuckle. You typically try to avoid Spencer for two reasons: one, he's annoying; and two, Daryl thinks he has a thing for you. You aren't too sure but regardless, out of respect for Daryl, you keep interactions to a minimum whenever possible.

"You're looking for Daryl, right?" He asks, and you smile sheepishly.

"You seen him?"

"Actually yeah, right there." He nods his head off toward the north end of the wall and sure enough, there is Daryl, sitting on the curb, watching the two of you.

"Thanks, Spencer," you smile and head over toward him.

All the while, Daryl had been watching the interaction. Annoyed with Spencer, but happy with you. He knew that you tried to keep your distance from him to make him for more comfortable, although he never asked you to and you never outright said it. He still felt the twinge of insecurity sometimes, but you always reassured him with your actions. He felt his heart pounding in his chest as he watched you leave Spencer hastily and walk over to him.

The last three days without you felt like torture, constantly worrying if you were okay, missing you. Watching you walk toward him felt like a piece of him returning, and he hated himself for feeling so completely whipped, but he couldn't help it. He loved you so much.

"Hey, you okay?" you call out as you approach Daryl where he sat on the curb, leaning on his knees. He squints up at you, an unreadable expression on his face. He doesn't look mad, or happy. Just thoughtful. "Sorry about him. Thankfully he didn't try to keep talking to me." You roll your eyes, shifting your body so that your shadow cast over him and blocked the sun from his eyes.

Daryl notices the subtle gesture and his solemn look makes something inside of you stir like a schoolgirl with a crush. He loved how you were always thinking about him - doing little things like that for him.

"Well? Are you gonna give me a hug or do I have to beg?" you tease, nudging the archer with your sneaker. "I've missed you like crazy," you continue, admiring how handsome he looks in his typical Daryl outfit. His hair blows slightly in the light breeze, cooling you off ever so slightly.

Finally, he stands up, still not having said a word, and pulls you into his chest. You feel like something is off, but say nothing and return his hug. His arms are tight arounds your shoulders and you wrap your arms snug around his belly, breathing in his scent - outdoorsy and like cigarette - but to you, smelled like home. He doesn't make any move to pull away like he usually would when you are outdoors (he isn't into pda), but instead kisses the top of your head, his scratchy beard tickling you.

You pull your head back from his chest just enough to look up into his eyes, furrowing your brows. "You okay, hun?" You ask, worried. "Did something happen?"

"Nah," his first word. "I just love ya, s'all," his lips twitch up into a brief smile, rubbing his thumb on your cheek. Your cheek heat up into a blaze and you grin uncontrollably.

"I love you too, Daryl. So much," you smile shyly. He nods slightly and bites his lip. "You sure you're okay?" throws his one arm over your shoulder loosely, starting to guide you back toward the house. "

"C'mon, 'm sure yer exhausted," he says.

"I am. You wanna rub my feet?" you tease, grinning up at him. He scoffs playfully and you wrap your left arm around his torso as you walk.

[violettwrites]

trust i seek, and i find in you — daryl dixon

a/n: hi guys ! sorry it’s been a little while, i’ve honestly not had much motivation but i managed to get this out for the person that requested ! i think i may have a little writers block, but i’m gonna try and rewatch twd to help me out with my inspo 🫶🏻 i apologise that it’s short, but hey, what can we do !

if you enjoy my writing, please don’t forget to like, reblog, and/or comment ! your support always means the world to me 🫶🏻 requests are currently closed, but i will be opening them up soon hopefully !

summary: daryl thinks he isn’t good enough for you because he’s too “old”

requested: @/nuhogom requested; could you do an age gap fic with daryl? reader is well into her/their 20’s though!! i’d love a secret relationship too! maybe if it’s set in twd, it’s because daryl is still kinda insecure etc.

warnings: none ! a bit of angst maybe???

word count: 879

resources: divider by @/adornedwithlight

➵ rules

➵ masterlist

➵ ask box

it was late at hilltop, and the faint hum of crickets mixed with the occasional groan of a walker beyond the walls. inside, everything felt peaceful. you sat in your little trailer, curled beneath a blanket, waiting for daryl. he didn’t stop by every night, much to your dismay, but you could always sense when he would. there was something between you—something electric, fragile, and unspoken, like a current neither of you dared disturb.

a soft knock echoed through the quiet, followed by the slow creak of the door opening. there he was, crossbow slung over his shoulder, eyes a mix of stoic and softened by the dim light of your trailer. his gaze found yours immediately, warm and inviting.

“thought you weren’t comin’,” you said, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself as you watched him, your eyes tracing every one of his movements.

“had to finish a run for tara,” he muttered, voice low and gravelly. he didn’t need to explain further—his presence was enough. it always had been. words had never been necessary between the two of you.

you’d been seeing each other for months now, in secret. daryl, being in his forties, knew that people would talk if they found out. they’d whisper, judge, say you were too young for him, too bright for someone as worn as him. he hated the idea of being the one to pull you into those whispers, to tarnish you with their judgments. but at the same time, he couldn’t stay away.

you didn’t care about any of that, though. not in a world like this. what did other people’s opinions matter when survival was all that was left?

“no one’s gonna know,” you whispered, sitting up a bit and placing a hand on his arm. “it’s just us here.”

he hesitated, glancing away for a moment before his eyes settled back on you. “it ain’t right. yer young. people’ll talk, make it worse.”

you could see the conflict in his eyes, the way his need to protect you warred with his desire to be close. but you weren’t a kid anymore. you were capable of making your own decisions, and you had chosen him.

“i don’t care what they think,” you said softly but firmly. “none of that matters. i care about you—that’s all i need.”

daryl sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly as he shook his head, but his hand found yours. his fingers, rough and calloused from years of surviving, wrapped gently around yours. he pulled you closer, tucking you under his arm as you leaned into him, your head resting against his chest. his other arm came around you, solid and protective, as though he were the only thing standing between you and the chaos of the world outside.

“don’t know why you want someone like me,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to you.

you tilted your head to look up at him, his expression clouded with doubt. “i want someone like you because you’re kind, and you care more than you let on. you see me for who i am, not for who people think i should be.”

his brow furrowed slightly, the weight of your words sinking in. it wasn’t often that anyone took the time to look past the walls he kept up, and fewer still bothered to try.

you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “stop worrying about them. it’s just us.”

daryl didn’t reply, but his arms tightened around you, pulling you in until you were practically in his lap. your head rested against his chest, and you listened to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear, a sound that brought you more comfort than you ever thought possible.

his fingers slowly combed through your hair as the silence stretched between you, easy and familiar. your eyes drifted closed, feeling the tension seep out of him as his body relaxed against yours. this was a side of him no one else saw—vulnerable, unguarded, and you cherished it, every rare moment of it.

time seemed to blur, the rest of the world fading away as you sat there together. daryl’s hand never stopped moving through your hair, his touch so tender it was hard to believe it came from someone so hardened by life.

“i ain’t good at this,” he mumbled after a while, his voice low and almost apologetic. “don’ know how to do relationships—how to… be what you need.”

you lifted your head, meeting his gaze. “you’re already everything i need, daryl.”

his eyes softened at your words, the usual tension in his features melting away. he leaned in slowly, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to your lips. it wasn’t rushed, as though he wanted to savor every second, commit it all to memory.

when you finally pulled back, you rested your forehead against his, breathing him in. “i’m not going anywhere,” you whispered. “not unless you want me to.”

he shook his head, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “ain’t ever gonna want that.”

your heart swelled at his words, and you smiled, nestling back into his chest, his arms keeping you close, holding onto you like you were his anchor in the storm.

and for now, that was all that mattered.

[starlessea]

Hii! Could you plz write a fic where the reader finds out that Daryl's ticklish and a tickle fight break outs between them?

You obviously don't have to if you don't want to! :))

Boots And All

Drabble: Based on this ask. I strayed a little but hopefully it scratches the itch (no pun intended).​

Masterlist

It had taken some time for Daryl to become comfortable around you.

Sure, the two of you had been a thing for some time—sneaking off here and there, swapping shirts for purpled neck bruises.

But those were fleetings moments; there was no real comfort in them. They consisted of rushed encounters, usually when the tension had become so unbearable that the pair of you were at each other’s throats. 

Things were different now. Alexandria had given you the space to slow down. And slowness was something Daryl wasn’t accustomed to. He couldn’t get used to the porch-watching, the grass-mowing, and the domesticity of it all. 

Especially now, as he found himself at the entryway of the shared house, struggling to find the words to say to you.

‘I’m home’ didn’t sound right; neither did ‘I’m back.’

You hadn’t been waiting for him after all—or had you?

Daryl stood dumbfounded. He'd never had trouble with this stuff before, but this suburbanite hellscape had him guessing his every move. What if you didn’t want him anymore?

He shook his head. Footsteps echoed across the hall, and not wanting to get caught mid-agonising, Daryl tried to busy himself.

"Dixon," you greeted, before a furrow pinched your brow. "Boots."

Daryl’s eyes followed your pointed finger, landing on the trail of mud he'd dragged over the ornate welcome mat.

"Damnit, woman," he cursed. "Been gone all day an' tha's all I get—boots?"

“Boots,” you confirmed, and disappeared back into the living room.

Daryl grumbled before sinking to his knees to undo his laces. Here he was wracking his brain for the perfect greeting and you’d settled on fucking boots.

It could be worse, he thought. At least that meant you wanted him to stay.

The fire crackled low as Daryl trudged into the living room. You were slumped down on the couch, legs tucked under you with one arm draped lazily over the backrest. Your attention was on a book he knew you'd already finished.

Daryl deliberated for a moment dropping into the space nearby. He kicked his legs up onto the stool before him, watching the way your eyes flickered over before returning to your page.

There was a tension in the air—subtle but persistent. He wondered if this was as strange and new to you as it was him. Perhaps you didn’t like him all that much now there were other options. He scowled, and tried to put the thought away from him.

“So…” you began after a moment, setting the book down onto the table. “How was it? Find anything good?”

Your voice was softer now, and Daryl felt himself relax slightly. “Nah,” he muttered. “Same ol’ shit. Few walkers—not much else.”

You shifted, and as you did, your hand brushed against his foot. A jolt sparked through his body; he kicked his leg out instinctively.

“Jesus, Daryl," you yelped. "What was that for?”

Daryl opened his mouth to retort, but as he did, you readjusted once more, grazing the base of his foot with your fingers.

He immediately recoiled. “I swear to sweet shit, do that again an’ there’ll be hell.”

A look of realization flashed across your face—and god, did Daryl hate it.

“Are you…” you paused, the disbelief in your voice too great to conceal, “ticklish?”

Daryl groaned. He suddenly felt five-years-old again, wishing he could keep a straight face.

His lack of reply spurred you into action. “You can’t be,” you announced, goadingly. Daryl felt his muscles grow taut, preparing for the worst. As much as he wanted to escape, part of him missed this—missed that look in your eyes when they weren’t clouded by worry and expectation. “Everywhere?”

“Don’t ya dare,” he warned, though it lacked any real bite.

You grinned before edging closer, until you were sat straddling his lap. Daryl stiffened. His hands hovered above your hips, not quite confident to let them rest there.

“All the times I’ve touched you here,” you murmured, tracing a line up his chest, “or kissed you here”—your breath brushed against his ear, and he shivered despite himself—“did it tickle you?”

Daryl swatted your hand. “Yer fuckin’ ridiculous,” he growled.

You couldn’t help the laugh that spilled from your lips. It chipped away at Daryl's defences, leaving him even more exposed.

"And how about here?"

You tested a light prod at the ribs, to which he bucked beneath you, trying to unseat you.

“Fucking—cut it out,” he snapped.

And again, that smile of yours tugged at something deep within him.

“Alright, alright,” you conceded, raising your hands in surrender. “I’ve had my fun.”

He was about to bite something back, but the words caught in his throat. Your hair was splayed, catching the light of the fire as it framed your face, and on it, your expression was one of pure warmth. For a moment, all Daryl could do was stare. How many days had it been—weeks even—since he’d seen you like this?

You were so beautiful.

“I missed ya,” he admitted. The words came out of their own accord, barely above a whisper. “I wanted to get back to ya.”

His hands found your hips, and his thumb began tracing circles there.

"If you'll have me an' my muddy boots."

Your expression softened, and as you leaned down, Daryl left himself completely open.

You kissed him; it was unlike any of the others you shared before. It wasn't urgent, nor desperate—like the ones brought about by fear of getting caught.

You took your time with him, since there was enough now to spare.

“I missed you too, Dixon,” you murmured against his lips. “And I'll gladly take you, boots and all.”

A/N Sup... It's been about 2-3 years but I want to confirm that I'm alive. To be honest, I still read every comment I get and I can't believe people still love my work. I started this page when I was a wee 19-20 year old student, and now I'm 24, have bought a house, a dog, and am heading a company (crazy, I know). That said, I wish I could go back to the days I would write and write and write. Unfortunately, I just don't have the time (and I'm a lot slower now due to the mental block I developed from aiming for perfection)... Though, my wish for 2025 is to devote a little time back to my hobby - no matter how small, nor how long it takes me. To anyone still here, firstly holy shit go touch some grass (just kidding), but truly thanks for sticking with me. If you want to reach out, I'd love to rebuild some bridges and hear your suggestions! P.S I know it's been a hot minute so if you want to be added / removed from my tag list, please let me know x

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[mpregslover69]

drunken makeout

this came to me right beofre i fell asleep so if it dont make snes its cause im tired n also about 2 fall asleep to the one request i still gotta finish got i am working on u dw,,, just been not-darylmaxxing inbox is open/peer pressure

imagine getting just a little bit too tipsy with daryl, he knew his limit of course but that never stopped him from always going just a little bit over.

you followed suit, chugging drink after drink not a care in the world. maybe it was the drunken haze, maybe it was the already hidden feelings you both had for each other or perhaps it was a mix of both.

still it ended up with the tow of you smashing lips together, a total mess as your arms wrapped around one another. neither of you cared if anyone heard or saw you, in this moment all you coul try to think about was the wet slobbery kisses daryl was giving you.

your tongues fought each other, mixing saliva between the two of you. it didn't matter how rough your mouths were crashing into each other, nor di you care about the drool dribbling down your chin.

you were just focused on him, the same went for daryl. all rational thought had left his mind, only focused on eating your face off before he gained back any rational parts of his brain.

it was stupid and impulsive, just the way you liked it.