I'm Bee!! I've made three intros on this page, but this is the most updated one. I'm much happier with the way that it looks. Here's some information about me and my account:
Bee | 20 | she/they
I try to be as active as possible, but I am chronically physically and mentally ill.
Multi-fandom content can be found on my primary blog @bees-library3.
Follow my updates blog to see if you've missed any content - @bees-archive3.
Requests - closed
DMs - open for my mutuals, so you can feel free to ask me if you'd like to join that list of lovely people!!
affirmations for writers: i know how to write. i have seen sentences before, and i know how to make one. i can identify up to several words and their meanings. i am not afraid of semicolons.
can i get uhhβ¦ vanilla.. cream cheese frosting.. crushed oreos.. βpretty good, huh? i told you i'd make you feel goodβ.. and with peaches?
A Man of His Word
Pairing:Β Daryl Dixon x Reader
Summary:Β Your husband fulfills his promises.
Warnings/Tags:Β smut with no plot, soft dom!daryl, female reader (she/her) with female anatomy, unprotected p in v sex, use of the term βgood girlβ, husband!daryl, light infantilization, season 11, established relationship, no use of Y/N
Word count: 441 words
A/N:Β While Iβm obsessed with sub!daryl, I also adore soft dom!daryl. Heβs pretty cocky in this, and I love it lmao. This is for my 650 followers celebration, so you can check out that post to see the context behind this request. This fic is shorter than my usual content, but I was running on a few hours of sleep while writing it. Hopefully, this fits your vision!! <33
Masterlist | D.D. smut masterlist
βBeinβ so fuckinβ good for me.β
As Daryl praised you, he was setting a steady pace with his thrusts and holding eye contact. Your husband was huge on eye contact during sex, so this was no surprise. His lips moved against the side of your neck, leaving dark marks in his wake. He gently prompted you to respond to him.
βYou want me to go faster or slow it down? Use your words, honey.β
Overstimulated with pleasure, you werenβt able to respond yet, and tears streaked your cheeks. Daryl kissed them away and kept moving. The hand that wasnβt supporting his weight began stroking his hair, and he spoke again.
βCβmon, sweet girl. Not gonna know what you want if you donβt say nothinβ. Want me to stop?β
Your eyes widened at the idea of Daryl stopping, and you frantically shook your head. It took a few seconds for you to speak, and your voice was tinged with desperation.
βD-donβt stop. Please donβt stop.β
βThatβs a good girl. Answer my question?β
βOh, maybeβ¦ a little faster?β
The hesitation in your voice made Darylβs heart ache, and he redoubled his efforts. He wanted you to feel good, to feel heard. Your husband pressed a kiss to your forehead and quickened the rhythm of his movements. His fingers were still in your hair when he praised you again.
βThank you for usinβ your words. Youβre listeninβ so well.β
Knowing that Daryl wanted you to respond to him, you swallowed a whimper and nodded. The pleasure was overwhelming, but in the best way imaginable. Your voice trembled when you spoke between small gasps.
βTryna be good. Itβs a lot.β
βI know, baby. I know. You can take it, though.β
Darylβs breathing was ragged as he continued moving inside of you. He could feel the euphoria pulling at his lower stomach, but he was more focused on you. It was obvious that you were getting close to that edge, and he was determined to push you over it. He changed the angle of his hips, and the orgasm immediately crashed into you. You cried out his name and tried to anchor yourself by clinging to his shoulders.
His peak soon followed, and it took all of his strength to not collapse on top of you. After thrusting a few more times, he smirked and nodded in satisfaction. His tone was dripping with cockiness.
βPretty good, huh? I told you Iβd make you feel good.β
It took several seconds before you could speak again, and you laughed breathlessly. Seeing your husband act boastful was always amusing. You grinned and nodded.
babydaddy!shane who will NOT stop eye fucking you at parent-teacher conferences from across the crowded hallway. he's such a fuck. he holds the door open for you and your son's teacher, following behind you with a hand to the small of your back, pulling your chair out for you and ushering for you to sit. and yes, obviously you're inviting him back to the house afterwards to celebrate such good coparenting skills and the positive feedback you received about your boy in all of his classes. he just had a drink too many and couldn't drive home, crashed on the couch. sitting at the breakfast table together sharing half a pot of coffee, your son pads into the room, rubbing his eyes. "daddy's home!" after hearing that who are you to make shane leave?
can i get uhhβ¦ vanilla.. cream cheese frosting.. crushed oreos.. βpretty good, huh? i told you i'd make you feel goodβ.. and with peaches?
A Man of His Word
Pairing:Β Daryl Dixon x Reader
Summary:Β Your husband fulfills his promises.
Warnings/Tags:Β smut with no plot, soft dom!daryl, female reader (she/her) with female anatomy, unprotected p in v sex, use of the term βgood girlβ, husband!daryl, light infantilization, season 11, established relationship, no use of Y/N
Word count: 441 words
A/N:Β While Iβm obsessed with sub!daryl, I also adore soft dom!daryl. Heβs pretty cocky in this, and I love it lmao. This is for my 650 followers celebration, so you can check out that post to see the context behind this request. This fic is shorter than my usual content, but I was running on a few hours of sleep while writing it. Hopefully, this fits your vision!! <33
Masterlist | D.D. smut masterlist
βBeinβ so fuckinβ good for me.β
As Daryl praised you, he was setting a steady pace with his thrusts and holding eye contact. Your husband was huge on eye contact during sex, so this was no surprise. His lips moved against the side of your neck, leaving dark marks in his wake. He gently prompted you to respond to him.
βYou want me to go faster or slow it down? Use your words, honey.β
Overstimulated with pleasure, you werenβt able to respond yet, and tears streaked your cheeks. Daryl kissed them away and kept moving. The hand that wasnβt supporting his weight began stroking his hair, and he spoke again.
βCβmon, sweet girl. Not gonna know what you want if you donβt say nothinβ. Want me to stop?β
Your eyes widened at the idea of Daryl stopping, and you frantically shook your head. It took a few seconds for you to speak, and your voice was tinged with desperation.
βD-donβt stop. Please donβt stop.β
βThatβs a good girl. Answer my question?β
βOh, maybeβ¦ a little faster?β
The hesitation in your voice made Darylβs heart ache, and he redoubled his efforts. He wanted you to feel good, to feel heard. Your husband pressed a kiss to your forehead and quickened the rhythm of his movements. His fingers were still in your hair when he praised you again.
βThank you for usinβ your words. Youβre listeninβ so well.β
Knowing that Daryl wanted you to respond to him, you swallowed a whimper and nodded. The pleasure was overwhelming, but in the best way imaginable. Your voice trembled when you spoke between small gasps.
βTryna be good. Itβs a lot.β
βI know, baby. I know. You can take it, though.β
Darylβs breathing was ragged as he continued moving inside of you. He could feel the euphoria pulling at his lower stomach, but he was more focused on you. It was obvious that you were getting close to that edge, and he was determined to push you over it. He changed the angle of his hips, and the orgasm immediately crashed into you. You cried out his name and tried to anchor yourself by clinging to his shoulders.
His peak soon followed, and it took all of his strength to not collapse on top of you. After thrusting a few more times, he smirked and nodded in satisfaction. His tone was dripping with cockiness.
βPretty good, huh? I told you Iβd make you feel good.β
It took several seconds before you could speak again, and you laughed breathlessly. Seeing your husband act boastful was always amusing. You grinned and nodded.
Summary:Β The annual Grimes family barbecue results in your dadβs best friend fucking you in the bathroom.
Warnings/Tags:Β smut with no plot, dbf!shane, grimes!reader, bunny!reader, dom!shane, female reader (she/her) with female anatomy, hair pulling, unprotected p in v sex, fingering, dacryphilia, degradation, BIG age-gap (reader is a college student), no outbreak!au, established relationship, no use of Y/N
Word count: 2.7k words
A/N:Β This is the expanded version of my drabble βHush, bunny.β I had never written for Shane before, but I am very happy that you all seem to enjoy how I write dbf!shane. I mainly kept the dialogue and kinks from that drabble, so consider this the fleshed-out edition. Iβm a fictional age gap enthusiast, so I had to write the most common trope, which is the Fourth of July barbecue. The end/bbq bit is rushed because I was nerfed by a headache, so I apologize for that!!
Masterlist | S.W. smut masterlist
You could hear the rumbling of Shaneβs truck engine through your bedroom window, and you rolled your eyes. Everything about your fatherβs best friend was loud. The two of you hadnβt spoken since he drunkenly took your virginity, and you were still unsure of how to feel about him. There was no denying that youβd fallen for him. The question was whether or not he felt the same.
As you continued applying your mascara, you remembered the way your tears had left black streaks on his sheets and had to pause. Shane had been living rent-free in your brain for the past week. Heβd been permeating your thoughts before then, but this was different. In the past, it had just been fantasies; now it was memories.
Adding to your torture, Shane had entered the house, and you could hear him laughing with your father downstairs. Part of you felt guilty about what the two of you had done. How would Rick feel if he knew what kind of man his best friend was? What kind of girl his daughter was? You pushed the thoughts from your head and refocused your attention on getting ready. That was something that you could control.
You took a deep breath and started fixing your hair. Parting it down the middle, you tied off the two sections into even pigtails. It was the Fourth of July, so you wrapped two white ribbons around the hair ties to make little bows. Your hair and makeup were finished, which meant that it was time to get dressed. You walked over to your closet and browsed your options. The second your eyes landed on your miniskirt, you froze. The image of Shane hiking it up as he fucked you on his bed flashed in your mind.
The sound of him animatedly telling a story downstairs interrupted your thoughts, and you groaned. You had to drown him out somehow. Maybe music would help? You grabbed your phone and connected it to the speaker on your desk. Bruce Springsteen started blaring, and it was at the perfect volume.
Satisfied with your choice of music, you turned back to your closet and started rifling through your options again. You couldnβt help but think about what outfit your father would loathe the most. Lori was here, so sheβd stop him from getting too upset. You intended on using this to your advantage.
After what felt like ages, you finally settled on a red babydoll dress that would be paired with your cowboy boots. Underneath the dress, youβd be wearing a lacy white bra with a matching thong. Your mind drifted to picturing Shaneβs reaction to the outfit, but you quickly got back on track. You were in the midst of dressing yourself when βGlory Daysβ started blasting. Little did you know that this would attract your dadβs best friend.
Shane had been using the upstairs bathroom when he had heard the song start. The manΒ lovedΒ Bruce Springsteen, so naturally, he went looking for where the music was coming from. As he wandered the hallway, he realized that it was coming from your bedroom. Instead of doing the respectful thing and knocking, he waltzed right in.
As soon as the door swung open, you looked up and made a shocked sound when you saw Shane. You were about to tell him off when he closed the door behind himself and shushed you. The man had a lot of nerve, and he smirked as he spoke.
βEasy, bunny. Itβs just me.β
βYou need to knock.β
Despite glaring at him, you didnβt tell him to leave, and you finished pulling your dress up. Heβd conveniently barged in while you were dressing. Shaneβs eyes roamed your body and a cocky grin spread across his face when he saw that you were blushing. He was already being an ass today, so he had to tease you.
βYou look real nice, sweetheart. Those new panties?β
βOh, fuck off.β
Your words were biting in a way that he hadnβt expected. Shit, you must still be upset about how he handled the drunken hookup. Shane would never admit it, but he hated the thought of you being angry with him. He turned up the charm and gave an earnest apology.
βHey, I get it if youβre still mad at me. I shouldnβt have handled things like that. You deserve better than that.β
In all the years heβd been a part of your familyβs life, you could count on one hand the number of apologies that youβd heard from Shane. You took a second before deciding to believe him. It might come to bite you in the ass later, but it was worth it for now. You sighed and nodded.
βOkay. Thank you.β
βThank you? Thatβs all I get?β
Of course, heβd gone right back to teasing you. You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms. He was really testing your patience. After a moment of staring at him and waiting for him to elaborate, you groaned.
βWhat were you expecting? Us to kiss and make up?β
βI mean, would you say no?β
Now, that was a good question. You exhaled heavily and looked him over. Shane managed to make a plain white t-shirt and blue jeans look enticing. Naturally, your attention boosted his ego, and he teased you again.
βYeah. Thatβs my answer.β
Before you could come up with a witty response, Shane crossed the room and pulled you in by the waist. He kissed you with such force that it made your head spin. Your lips met his with equal hunger, and you leaned into him. His hands explored your body before settling on your thighs, and one started to slip up past your panties. You let him feel you for a moment before trying to reason with him.
βShane, my familyβs downstairs. Right beneath us.β
Shane took this as his opportunity to kiss your neck, and he attempted to leave a mark. You were quick to interrupt that. Rick was already going to be pissed about your outfit; you didnβt need to deal with an unexplainable hickey. Your voice was firm when you spoke again.
βWhat the fuck? Are you trying to get me in trouble?β
βOh, cβmon, bunny. Itβs not a big deal.β
In disbelief, you stared at Shane and rested a hand on your hip. He was the one whoβd been evasive out of the fear of being caught. Heβs the one who had been guilty and was taking it out on you. Now, he wanted to mark you up? No fucking way. You groaned and shook your head.
βStop it. We can kiss, fuck, or whatever, but you donβt get to mark me like I belong to you. I donβt.β
This stubborn, almost bratty side of you wasnβt something that Shane was familiar with. To his surprise, your obstinance made his cock strain against the denim of his jeans. HeΒ reallyΒ had **to fuck you now. His tone was oozing with arousal and possessiveness when he spoke again.
βYeah? Iβll show you who you fuckinβ belong to. Cβmon.β
You shouldβve known that your opposition was bound to make Shane snap, but it had happened sooner than expected. To be fair, youβd been dreaming of having him inside of you again. You were about to get what you wanted. Opening the bedroom door, he checked that the hallway was empty and pulled you into the nearby bathroom. In his mind, this was a little less obvious, and you werenβt going to object.
Heβd barely locked the door before spinning you around and pressing you against the countertop. Shaneβs movements were hurried, and it was clear that he was simply getting this out of his system. Youβd examine how being used like this made you feel later. You were too wound up to care now. He took a moment to admire the way heβd bent you over and ran his finger along your spine. His voice was more reverent when he spoke again.
βFuck, bunny. Look at you. Such a pretty girl.β
βYou like the dress?β
βYeah, sweetheart. Fits you well.β
Eager to feel your skin on his, he repositioned you and quickly pulled the dress over your head. Shane haphazardly tossed it to the side and groaned at the sight of you in that matching set. You knew exactly what you were doing when you put it on. He sighed and ran a hand down his face.
βJesus. You wear that for me?β
βYes.β
You answered a little too quickly, and your cheeks flushed a bright pink. Seeing you blush was the final straw for Shane. He spun you back around and stripped you of your underwear. His lips returned to your neck, but he was being gentler this time. Maybe heβd listen to your warning about the hickeys. He wasted no time in undoing his belt and tugging his jeans down along with his boxers. He gave you a quick warning as he aligned himself with your cunt.
βYou can take me, baby. You did so good last time.β
With that, he snapped his hips forward and thrusted his cock deep inside of you. His large palm was clasped over your mouth, and he drove into you from behind. He set a frantic pace and reprimanded you when you tried to cry out.
βShhh. We have to be quiet, bunny. Ainβt want your daddy to hear you, do we?β
Hearing Shane refer to your actual father as your βdaddyβ and not himself, you felt a twinge of disappointment. It was quickly overcome by the pleasure rolling through you. You took a ragged breath and answered him; your voice was muffled.
βN-no, sir.β
βThatβs what I thought. Keep those pretty lips sealed.β
He didnβt want you to speak, so you simply hummed in agreement. Shaneβs free hand was holding you in place, while he continued to thrust his thick cock in and out of your cunt. He was trying to keep it down, but low grunts kept escaping from his throat. Finding his release, he didnβt wait for you to reach yours before roughly pulling out. You cried out in frustration, but a sharp tug to your hair made you stop. His voice was firm when he spoke again.
βHush, bunny.β
Youβd been expecting Shane to make you orgasm with his cunt, but he had other plans. He didnβt give you time to start whining before he roughly shoved two fingers into your cunt with his free hand. The other remained clamped over your mouth, and it muffled your cries. You leaned into his touch and started grinding against his hand. He mocked you as he worked.
βLook at how youβre ridinβ my hand. Youβre so needy that itβs fuckinβ pathetic, yβknow that?β
His words stung and tears pricked at your eyes. Against your will, they began to run down your cheeks, and they were tinged dark grey with your mascara. You were pleasantly surprised when Shane tipped your head back towards him and kissed away your tears. He was still being patronizing, but his tone had softened.
βYouβre a needy little rabbit, ainβt you?Β MyΒ bunny. Say it back to me.β
Continuing to pump his fingers in and out of you, he moved his other hand away from your mouth and stared at you expectantly. You didnβt want to disappoint him, so you were quick to answer.
βAll yours.β
βNeed more than that. Repeat what I said.β
He was being impossible, and you whined softly, which earned another quick yank to your hair. You whimpered and wiped at your face. It took a moment before you were coherent enough to respond.
βI-Iβm a needy little rabbit. IβmΒ yourΒ bunny.β
βYeah, you are. Good girl.β
Satisfied with your obedience, he gave extra attention to your clit and didnβt let up until you finally reached your peak. Your whole body shook as you came apart, and he steadied you by wrapping his arm around your waist. He held you until you caught your breath.
Shane waited until he was confident that you could stay upright before letting go and grabbing a nearby towel off of the rack. He wiped himself down first before attending to you. When he was cleaning your skin, his movements were uncharacteristically tender. You reveled in it before he pulled back and redressed his lower half.
You copied his actions and put your own clothes back on. Shane watched you and felt the familiar guilt blooming in his chest. You deserved so much more than a quick fuck in the bathroom, but he wasnβt sure that he could give it to you. The fact that he was best friends with your father and he was significantly older than you further complicated the matter.
For a second, one foolish second, he allowed himself to picture a future with you. What would it be like to come to you in his bed after a rough call? For once, that thought was less about a sexual encounter and more about the intimacy of you seeing him on a bad day. He quickly shook the thought from his head and cleared his throat. You startled slightly when he spoke suddenly.
βClean up your makeup and come out back with everyone.β
He didnβt give you time to respond before turning on his heel and leaving the bathroom. What the fuck? You still werenβt used to the way heβd emotionally shut down after sex. This time, you didnβt cry and instead did what he asked.
By the time youβd gone back to your room, Shane had already made it down the stairs and out to the backyard. Your father, your stepmother, and half-brother were outside waiting for him. Rick was too focused on grilling a rack of ribs to question where his best friend and daughter had been for the past several minutes. To his knowledge, youβd been getting ready in your room while Shane hung out in the living room. That wouldnβt be entirely out of the norm.
Lori, on the other hand, was suspicious. Her concern grew when you strolled out to join everyone and she saw the outfit you were wearing. The dress was far shorter than what Rick wouldβve accepted, and it was more wrinkled than she remembered. She didnβt want to rock the boat, so she stored this information away for later.
When Rick saw what you were wearing, he cursed beneath his breath and shook his head. He wanted to give you a proper lecture on how you presented yourself to guests, but more people were starting to trickle in. He had to make a comment, though. Thankfully, he waited until you were closer and he could be sure that only you would hear him.
βYβknow how I feel about that dress.β
βAinβt a child, Rick. I can wear a fuckinβ dress.β
Your attitude was infuriating, but Rick wasnβt in the mood to argue. He huffed and chewed at his lower lip. Tensions between the two of you had been high since he married Lori, and he hadnβt had the time to try and repair things. Besides, you were an adult now. At least, that was his excuse for not making an effort.
It was a bit juvenile, but you had to admit that you were amused by your fatherβs reaction. Shane was nursing a beer, sprawled out on a lawn chair, and listening to Carl ramble about his most recent little league game. You were going to have to find someone else to talk to. Looking around, you saw Beth standing beside Maggie, and you walked over to talk to her.
The Greenes had been friends of your family for years now, and Beth was closest to your age. You still had a few years on her, but the two of you got along well. As soon as she saw you walking over, her face lit up and she called out your name. You grinned and responded.
βBeth, how have you been? I havenβt seen you since I went off to school.β
βIβve been super busy. I got a job at the local market, and Daddyβs started lettinβ me help with the animals at his clinic.β
βReally? How much are you makinβ?β
The two of you went on to catch up until the food was ready. The rest of the evening was filled with conversation, good food, and an abundance of company. You and Shane kept meeting each otherβs eyes, but the two of you stayed a safe distance apart. Neither of you was eager to invite any speculation.
i love smut but dude writing the smut is the worst thing ever. like i canβt just say he put it in and fucked you hard and you guys came. no i gotta go in detail and talk about how he rolled his hips and touched your womb sending you to the heavens or some shit. fuck this bro
Summary:Β The annual Grimes family barbecue results in your dadβs best friend fucking you in the bathroom.
Warnings/Tags:Β smut with no plot, dbf!shane, grimes!reader, bunny!reader, dom!shane, female reader (she/her) with female anatomy, hair pulling, unprotected p in v sex, fingering, dacryphilia, degradation, BIG age-gap (reader is a college student), no outbreak!au, established relationship, no use of Y/N
Word count: 2.7k words
A/N:Β This is the expanded version of my drabble βHush, bunny.β I had never written for Shane before, but I am very happy that you all seem to enjoy how I write dbf!shane. I mainly kept the dialogue and kinks from that drabble, so consider this the fleshed-out edition. Iβm a fictional age gap enthusiast, so I had to write the most common trope, which is the Fourth of July barbecue. The end/bbq bit is rushed because I was nerfed by a headache, so I apologize for that!!
Masterlist | S.W. smut masterlist
You could hear the rumbling of Shaneβs truck engine through your bedroom window, and you rolled your eyes. Everything about your fatherβs best friend was loud. The two of you hadnβt spoken since he drunkenly took your virginity, and you were still unsure of how to feel about him. There was no denying that youβd fallen for him. The question was whether or not he felt the same.
As you continued applying your mascara, you remembered the way your tears had left black streaks on his sheets and had to pause. Shane had been living rent-free in your brain for the past week. Heβd been permeating your thoughts before then, but this was different. In the past, it had just been fantasies; now it was memories.
Adding to your torture, Shane had entered the house, and you could hear him laughing with your father downstairs. Part of you felt guilty about what the two of you had done. How would Rick feel if he knew what kind of man his best friend was? What kind of girl his daughter was? You pushed the thoughts from your head and refocused your attention on getting ready. That was something that you could control.
You took a deep breath and started fixing your hair. Parting it down the middle, you tied off the two sections into even pigtails. It was the Fourth of July, so you wrapped two white ribbons around the hair ties to make little bows. Your hair and makeup were finished, which meant that it was time to get dressed. You walked over to your closet and browsed your options. The second your eyes landed on your miniskirt, you froze. The image of Shane hiking it up as he fucked you on his bed flashed in your mind.
The sound of him animatedly telling a story downstairs interrupted your thoughts, and you groaned. You had to drown him out somehow. Maybe music would help? You grabbed your phone and connected it to the speaker on your desk. Bruce Springsteen started blaring, and it was at the perfect volume.
Satisfied with your choice of music, you turned back to your closet and started rifling through your options again. You couldnβt help but think about what outfit your father would loathe the most. Lori was here, so sheβd stop him from getting too upset. You intended on using this to your advantage.
After what felt like ages, you finally settled on a red babydoll dress that would be paired with your cowboy boots. Underneath the dress, youβd be wearing a lacy white bra with a matching thong. Your mind drifted to picturing Shaneβs reaction to the outfit, but you quickly got back on track. You were in the midst of dressing yourself when βGlory Daysβ started blasting. Little did you know that this would attract your dadβs best friend.
Shane had been using the upstairs bathroom when he had heard the song start. The manΒ lovedΒ Bruce Springsteen, so naturally, he went looking for where the music was coming from. As he wandered the hallway, he realized that it was coming from your bedroom. Instead of doing the respectful thing and knocking, he waltzed right in.
As soon as the door swung open, you looked up and made a shocked sound when you saw Shane. You were about to tell him off when he closed the door behind himself and shushed you. The man had a lot of nerve, and he smirked as he spoke.
βEasy, bunny. Itβs just me.β
βYou need to knock.β
Despite glaring at him, you didnβt tell him to leave, and you finished pulling your dress up. Heβd conveniently barged in while you were dressing. Shaneβs eyes roamed your body and a cocky grin spread across his face when he saw that you were blushing. He was already being an ass today, so he had to tease you.
βYou look real nice, sweetheart. Those new panties?β
βOh, fuck off.β
Your words were biting in a way that he hadnβt expected. Shit, you must still be upset about how he handled the drunken hookup. Shane would never admit it, but he hated the thought of you being angry with him. He turned up the charm and gave an earnest apology.
βHey, I get it if youβre still mad at me. I shouldnβt have handled things like that. You deserve better than that.β
In all the years heβd been a part of your familyβs life, you could count on one hand the number of apologies that youβd heard from Shane. You took a second before deciding to believe him. It might come to bite you in the ass later, but it was worth it for now. You sighed and nodded.
βOkay. Thank you.β
βThank you? Thatβs all I get?β
Of course, heβd gone right back to teasing you. You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms. He was really testing your patience. After a moment of staring at him and waiting for him to elaborate, you groaned.
βWhat were you expecting? Us to kiss and make up?β
βI mean, would you say no?β
Now, that was a good question. You exhaled heavily and looked him over. Shane managed to make a plain white t-shirt and blue jeans look enticing. Naturally, your attention boosted his ego, and he teased you again.
βYeah. Thatβs my answer.β
Before you could come up with a witty response, Shane crossed the room and pulled you in by the waist. He kissed you with such force that it made your head spin. Your lips met his with equal hunger, and you leaned into him. His hands explored your body before settling on your thighs, and one started to slip up past your panties. You let him feel you for a moment before trying to reason with him.
βShane, my familyβs downstairs. Right beneath us.β
Shane took this as his opportunity to kiss your neck, and he attempted to leave a mark. You were quick to interrupt that. Rick was already going to be pissed about your outfit; you didnβt need to deal with an unexplainable hickey. Your voice was firm when you spoke again.
βWhat the fuck? Are you trying to get me in trouble?β
βOh, cβmon, bunny. Itβs not a big deal.β
In disbelief, you stared at Shane and rested a hand on your hip. He was the one whoβd been evasive out of the fear of being caught. Heβs the one who had been guilty and was taking it out on you. Now, he wanted to mark you up? No fucking way. You groaned and shook your head.
βStop it. We can kiss, fuck, or whatever, but you donβt get to mark me like I belong to you. I donβt.β
This stubborn, almost bratty side of you wasnβt something that Shane was familiar with. To his surprise, your obstinance made his cock strain against the denim of his jeans. HeΒ reallyΒ had **to fuck you now. His tone was oozing with arousal and possessiveness when he spoke again.
βYeah? Iβll show you who you fuckinβ belong to. Cβmon.β
You shouldβve known that your opposition was bound to make Shane snap, but it had happened sooner than expected. To be fair, youβd been dreaming of having him inside of you again. You were about to get what you wanted. Opening the bedroom door, he checked that the hallway was empty and pulled you into the nearby bathroom. In his mind, this was a little less obvious, and you werenβt going to object.
Heβd barely locked the door before spinning you around and pressing you against the countertop. Shaneβs movements were hurried, and it was clear that he was simply getting this out of his system. Youβd examine how being used like this made you feel later. You were too wound up to care now. He took a moment to admire the way heβd bent you over and ran his finger along your spine. His voice was more reverent when he spoke again.
βFuck, bunny. Look at you. Such a pretty girl.β
βYou like the dress?β
βYeah, sweetheart. Fits you well.β
Eager to feel your skin on his, he repositioned you and quickly pulled the dress over your head. Shane haphazardly tossed it to the side and groaned at the sight of you in that matching set. You knew exactly what you were doing when you put it on. He sighed and ran a hand down his face.
βJesus. You wear that for me?β
βYes.β
You answered a little too quickly, and your cheeks flushed a bright pink. Seeing you blush was the final straw for Shane. He spun you back around and stripped you of your underwear. His lips returned to your neck, but he was being gentler this time. Maybe heβd listen to your warning about the hickeys. He wasted no time in undoing his belt and tugging his jeans down along with his boxers. He gave you a quick warning as he aligned himself with your cunt.
βYou can take me, baby. You did so good last time.β
With that, he snapped his hips forward and thrusted his cock deep inside of you. His large palm was clasped over your mouth, and he drove into you from behind. He set a frantic pace and reprimanded you when you tried to cry out.
βShhh. We have to be quiet, bunny. Ainβt want your daddy to hear you, do we?β
Hearing Shane refer to your actual father as your βdaddyβ and not himself, you felt a twinge of disappointment. It was quickly overcome by the pleasure rolling through you. You took a ragged breath and answered him; your voice was muffled.
βN-no, sir.β
βThatβs what I thought. Keep those pretty lips sealed.β
He didnβt want you to speak, so you simply hummed in agreement. Shaneβs free hand was holding you in place, while he continued to thrust his thick cock in and out of your cunt. He was trying to keep it down, but low grunts kept escaping from his throat. Finding his release, he didnβt wait for you to reach yours before roughly pulling out. You cried out in frustration, but a sharp tug to your hair made you stop. His voice was firm when he spoke again.
βHush, bunny.β
Youβd been expecting Shane to make you orgasm with his cunt, but he had other plans. He didnβt give you time to start whining before he roughly shoved two fingers into your cunt with his free hand. The other remained clamped over your mouth, and it muffled your cries. You leaned into his touch and started grinding against his hand. He mocked you as he worked.
βLook at how youβre ridinβ my hand. Youβre so needy that itβs fuckinβ pathetic, yβknow that?β
His words stung and tears pricked at your eyes. Against your will, they began to run down your cheeks, and they were tinged dark grey with your mascara. You were pleasantly surprised when Shane tipped your head back towards him and kissed away your tears. He was still being patronizing, but his tone had softened.
βYouβre a needy little rabbit, ainβt you?Β MyΒ bunny. Say it back to me.β
Continuing to pump his fingers in and out of you, he moved his other hand away from your mouth and stared at you expectantly. You didnβt want to disappoint him, so you were quick to answer.
βAll yours.β
βNeed more than that. Repeat what I said.β
He was being impossible, and you whined softly, which earned another quick yank to your hair. You whimpered and wiped at your face. It took a moment before you were coherent enough to respond.
βI-Iβm a needy little rabbit. IβmΒ yourΒ bunny.β
βYeah, you are. Good girl.β
Satisfied with your obedience, he gave extra attention to your clit and didnβt let up until you finally reached your peak. Your whole body shook as you came apart, and he steadied you by wrapping his arm around your waist. He held you until you caught your breath.
Shane waited until he was confident that you could stay upright before letting go and grabbing a nearby towel off of the rack. He wiped himself down first before attending to you. When he was cleaning your skin, his movements were uncharacteristically tender. You reveled in it before he pulled back and redressed his lower half.
You copied his actions and put your own clothes back on. Shane watched you and felt the familiar guilt blooming in his chest. You deserved so much more than a quick fuck in the bathroom, but he wasnβt sure that he could give it to you. The fact that he was best friends with your father and he was significantly older than you further complicated the matter.
For a second, one foolish second, he allowed himself to picture a future with you. What would it be like to come to you in his bed after a rough call? For once, that thought was less about a sexual encounter and more about the intimacy of you seeing him on a bad day. He quickly shook the thought from his head and cleared his throat. You startled slightly when he spoke suddenly.
βClean up your makeup and come out back with everyone.β
He didnβt give you time to respond before turning on his heel and leaving the bathroom. What the fuck? You still werenβt used to the way heβd emotionally shut down after sex. This time, you didnβt cry and instead did what he asked.
By the time youβd gone back to your room, Shane had already made it down the stairs and out to the backyard. Your father, your stepmother, and half-brother were outside waiting for him. Rick was too focused on grilling a rack of ribs to question where his best friend and daughter had been for the past several minutes. To his knowledge, youβd been getting ready in your room while Shane hung out in the living room. That wouldnβt be entirely out of the norm.
Lori, on the other hand, was suspicious. Her concern grew when you strolled out to join everyone and she saw the outfit you were wearing. The dress was far shorter than what Rick wouldβve accepted, and it was more wrinkled than she remembered. She didnβt want to rock the boat, so she stored this information away for later.
When Rick saw what you were wearing, he cursed beneath his breath and shook his head. He wanted to give you a proper lecture on how you presented yourself to guests, but more people were starting to trickle in. He had to make a comment, though. Thankfully, he waited until you were closer and he could be sure that only you would hear him.
βYβknow how I feel about that dress.β
βAinβt a child, Rick. I can wear a fuckinβ dress.β
Your attitude was infuriating, but Rick wasnβt in the mood to argue. He huffed and chewed at his lower lip. Tensions between the two of you had been high since he married Lori, and he hadnβt had the time to try and repair things. Besides, you were an adult now. At least, that was his excuse for not making an effort.
It was a bit juvenile, but you had to admit that you were amused by your fatherβs reaction. Shane was nursing a beer, sprawled out on a lawn chair, and listening to Carl ramble about his most recent little league game. You were going to have to find someone else to talk to. Looking around, you saw Beth standing beside Maggie, and you walked over to talk to her.
The Greenes had been friends of your family for years now, and Beth was closest to your age. You still had a few years on her, but the two of you got along well. As soon as she saw you walking over, her face lit up and she called out your name. You grinned and responded.
βBeth, how have you been? I havenβt seen you since I went off to school.β
βIβve been super busy. I got a job at the local market, and Daddyβs started lettinβ me help with the animals at his clinic.β
βReally? How much are you makinβ?β
The two of you went on to catch up until the food was ready. The rest of the evening was filled with conversation, good food, and an abundance of company. You and Shane kept meeting each otherβs eyes, but the two of you stayed a safe distance apart. Neither of you was eager to invite any speculation.
β’ Young Daryl Dixon x Young Female Reader β’ legal age of consent β’ second person β’ inner monologue β’ Merle being charming as ever β’ no apocalypse or pre apocalypse a/u β’ trailer trash β’ underwear fetishism β’Β inexperienced smut β’ oral f receiving β’
Summary: It all started with your panties...
Daryl sat on the steps of his trailer with his elbows on his knees, a forgotten beer by his dusty boots. A bee had done laps around the rim before dipping its fluffy body inside sometime during those minutes he left it unattended, choosing to watch you instead.
His new neighbor.
The previous tenant was an old prick with a gambling problemβif winning a third of the time still counts as a problemβwho couldn't put weight on his right foot because of the missing toes, and he fought relentlessly to keep his grass tall enough to function as a fence. It never did work as one. All it managed to be was an eyesore that attracted mosquitoes.
Up to the heart attack, he fit right into this place, unlike youβhis estranged grandchild.
Pretty
Quiet
Naive
Before you'd even spread his ashes, you had started making the place your own. Potted flowers and herbs, lace curtains, fairy lights, and even a radio by a foldable lounge chair outside.
It only took a couple of hours for the radio to get stolen from your little piece of trash heaven, though it only took Daryl a couple of minutes to get it back. It wasn't even a nice radio, but the fact that it was so easy to take it from you was a good enough reason to do it.
Yet god forbid some bastard steal the view from his window: You turning red as a tomato, mouthing the words to songs that were older than you both combined.
You were across from him, laundry basket propped against your hip, hauling sun-dried items from the clothingline. You never bothered removing the clothespins properly; the tugging sent little plastic clips flying into the grass, where they'd stay forgotten until your next laundry day or until you had to retrieve them before his mower turned them into confetti.
He had warned you not to whine if and when his ol' reliable shredded whatever shit you left outside, and so far, that was the longest string of words he'd said to you.
Your sandals were his first victims
Your gnomes were a close second
Last time, though, he almost mowed over your underwear.
Daryl was ready to keep his word and run over that item of clothing that fell from the basket on your way back insideβbut he didn't. Instead, he found himself bending down, balling them in his hand, and stuffing them into his pocket.
Those panties with a blue bow were still in his bedside drawer, waiting for their next date with his fist and cock. If he kept watching you sweat through your tank top, a rosy blush spreading across your nose and bare shoulders, he'd be doomed to indulge every perverted movie running through his head tonight, assuming Merle didn't drag him off somewhere first.
He wondered if you missed those panties, if their absence would have you retrace your steps, leading you to him. If you saw him taking them, saw him bringing your radio back. Saw the scrapes across his knuckles, because that's the only way people kept their belongings off limits around here.
He wondered why he cared at all.
You pulled the last shirt from the line, tossed it into the basket, then glanced over your shoulder to send him a nod. It was a I've felt your eyes on me for fifteen minutes straight and I'm not making this a thing type of nod. Not that you owed him more than that, but still, it bothered him. You'd been neighborly before: small talk, weather, the usual. He'd gotten used to it, even though his dry attitude gave you the opposite impression. Guess it was a matter of time before you'd stop being friendly. That bothered him even more.
So he cleared his throat.
"I was thinkin'..." he began, his southern drawl cutting through the lulling sounds of late summer surrounding you both. The humming of cicadas, and the wind chimes hanging from your awning became background noise to whatever he was making an effort to vomit out. "Since I'm mowin' yer side, it's only fair ya do my laundry." Could've jus' talked about the heat, dumbass.
You blinked, glancing between him and the yard like you were checking if he was talking to someone else, not expecting him to start a conversation let alone makeβwhat you assumed wasβa joke. "I said I'd pay. You didn't take the money," you reminded him, thinking back at the first time he crossed the invisible line separating his side from yours two months ago.
~~~His short hair, the color of oats, stuck to the back of his neck as the lawnmower chewed through the weeds and anything in its way. You waved a couple of bucks, yelling over the motor for him to take it and asking if he wanted something to drink too. He didn't talk. Didn't even look at you; he just waved you off like a pesky mosquito buzzing too close to his face, then kept mowing. ~~~
"I ain't want ya money, girl. Maybe I jus' want my stuff to smell like roses too."
Playing along, you tilted your head as if considering it. "So you trim my grass...and in return...I have to clean skid marks off your boxers, correct?" Youd set the basket down and moved closer with a smirk. "Not sure if that's a fair labor trade."
"Watch it," Daryl snapped, but there was no real bite to it. He pushed himself off the steps to meet you halfway because, if he planned jerk-off to you later, he might as well get a good whiffβfor the sake of a vivid fantasy, of course.
It was the only motive behind the conversation, at least that is what he said to himself.
"Dirt and motor oil I can own ta that," he said. "But shit? Ya leave that to my brother, Merle."
You snorted, loud and a little apologetic, your eyes crinkling as you smiled at him. The unladylike sound made the corners of Daryl's mouth twitch, but he wiped that look off fast before it got comfortable enough to stay, though not fast enough that you missed it.
You couldn't really miss much standing so close to him.
He had eyes the color of wornout denim
Two moles on the corner of his mouth
Sweaty
Earthy
He smelled like concrete after lightning
"I'll bake you something," you said, folding your arms.
He blinked. "What?"
"I said...I would bake you something." Your eyes dropped to the ground as you rocked back and forth on your heels, suddenly feeling a little silly for suggesting it. Judging by the look on his face, it was as if youβd spoken another language. "You know...as payment for mowing my poor excuse of a garden."
He felt his ears burn. This wasn't part of the plan, though he hadn't exactly had one to begin with. "Suppose that ain't a terrible trade..." he muttered, scratching the hollow under his cheekbone; his eyes avoided yours and landing on the dumpster by his trailer instead. S'many goddamn bees 'round since you got here.
You smiled, victorious. "Good. We have a deal then, neighβ"
"Daryl."
One beat
"...Daryl," you repeated with such sweetness that he could hardly believe that was his name he was hearing. You turned to retrieve the basket before heading inside, waving goodbye as the screen door shut behind you.
By the time you had crossed the distance to your trailer, his heart sped up like it had accepted something before he had.
Ah, Fuck.
He took a step back and inhaled as if he'd been underwater. How he managed to keep a conversation with you going was one thing, but getting a cake from it all? Maybe he should've played the lottery while he was at it.
Maybe things were turning around for him.
Maybeβ
He sneezed loud enough to lose his balance.
He'd been so fixed on you that he hadn't realized he felt like complete and utter dogshit. He wiped his runny nose with his forearmβthe fever officially welcoming summer.
You hadn't seen or spoken to Daryl in two days. In fact, the man had not stepped out of his trailer once. You knew this because you'd gotten into the habit of watching him from behind your curtains. It had started as a way to pass the time after moving in, but somewhere along the way, curiosity had turned into something you couldn't name.
You'd learned that Daryl was a creature of habit.
He woke before the mourning doves even began to coo and vanished into the woods for hours, returning either with nothing at all or enough meat to last the week. He took on odd jobs around the trailer park, fixed cars for cheap, and spent most of his time alone rebuilding an old bike he'd salvaged. At night, he would leave with his older brother, and you wouldn't catch sight of him again until the next day.
The nights when he stayed in were the ones you preferred, because he would sit outside for hours and stargaze with such an unguarded look on his face that you felt compelled to look away, but you never did.
Perhaps, like everyone else, you were only meant to see the scowl he wore for the worldβand that version of him was like nightshade blooming, something rare in nature, reserved only for the crickets and the moon.
Or maybe, with proper care and patienceβand cakeβhe would open up to you too.
The lack of rain meant the grass was brittle and dying before it ever grew past your ankles, so his mowing wasn't in the cards yet. You could bake him something for the previous mowings, though. It seemed fair, and it was an excuse to go see him. You didn't want to dwell on why you wanted to see him, so you snatched your apron and got to baking instead.
Unsure of what he liked, you decided on something safe. He wasn't pickyβyou'd seen him haul roadkill enough times to support your theory that he would eat anything. Just nothing with peanuts, in case he was allergic.
An hour later, the cramped kitchen smelled of lemon citrus and powdered sugar.
The bees crawled up and down the screen door, desperately trying to get inside. They had claimed your basil and lavender as their own, but this cake was off-limits.
By the time it was cool enough to dust with powdered sugar and little daisies, the sky had turned indigo, and the streetlight had beckoned all the flying insects in a mile radius with its flickering to come closer.
You skipped the short distance between trailers with the cake in your hands.
It had been a long time since you baked something for someone else. Like your parentβ wherever they wereβyou had a persistent itch to move around with barely any money, which meant not staying in one spot long enough for strangers to turn into acquaintances. It felt nice, though, to put time and care into a place and someone else. You still weren't sure how long you'd stay at the trailerpark. The plan had been to put your time into being your grandpa's caregiver, knowing he would changed his mind and decided he would rather be alone eventually, but death took him before he ever got the opportunity to kick you out. You thanked thanked him for his timing.
You knocked on the door
Fixed your dress
The door opened
Your smile dropped
It wasn't Daryl
Merle stood there at the top of the steps instead, leaning against the frame with the same hooded yet ready-to-bite look he always carried around like a pocket knife.
"Well, well," he drawled. "What do we have here? Ya lost, little lady? Y'trailer is that way." He pointing downward with his index finger and made a small circling motion for you to turn around.
"Not lost, just wondering," you looked past him into the empty trailer, 'if Daryl is here?"
He scratched his chin. "Depends. That cake ya holdin'βis it for him?" His eyes landed on the cake, on your face, on your knees poking underneath the short dress, like he was giving his eyes enough time to decide what looked better, because for people like him, it was a sight for sore eyes.
Finding dog shit in his mailbox? Sure. Getting a brick thrown at his window because he may or may not have slept with someone's sister? Possible. A pretty youngling like yourself bringing cake to the Dixon residence? In his wet dreams.
"It is. For being helpful with mowing my side."
"That so? Quite the oasis y'got over there." He chuckled. "How about this. I will personally give it to him, alright? Heβs out. Somethin' about a headache. Dunno. Might be a while." He tilted his head toward the doorway. "Unless ya wanna wait inβ"
You shook your head before he could finish asking. 'Tell him thank you," you said, handing over the cake. "And that I hope he likes it."
"Will do." He smirked, lifting the cake to his nose and taking in a loud sniff. "Don' worry, buttercup. I know my baby brother appreciates such a tender gesture."
He shut the door with his boot before you could ask about the headache.
The next day, sitting hunched on a milk crate with a screwdriver in hand, Daryl worked on replacing the clutch on his bike, muttering a deflated curse every time a stubborn screw refused to cooperate.
The flu had a tight hold on him. Every time he looked up, pressure throbbed behind his eyes, and every time he looked down, his sinuses clogged until he was forced to breathe through his mouth. His body begged for a few more hours of sleepβfor a bowl of chicken noodle soup, for a cool cloth pressed to the back of his neck.
Like a sissy, he thought, too stubborn to rest. He had lived his whole life without any of those things, so why expect them now? Hell, if his old man was still kicking, he would've gotten the whooping of his life for complaining or being useless.
Daryl had been so wrapped up in his own misery to pay attention to what was going on across from him. It took a loud crash to cut through that fevered haze that dulled his senses, and when his head shot up he found you getting cornered by a stranger.
The man laughed humorlessly, swinging his leg as far back as it could go before bringing it forwardβboot striking the ceramic gnome, sending it flying towards the side of the trailer, missing you by an inch, and shattering into pieces like the first one.
Daryl wasn't sure how he made it to you so fast, because one second he was by his bike, then the next he was pressing the tip of the screwdriver against the man's throat, as a string of pleas came out of their mouth.
Sharin'
Whore
Relax man
Don't!
"If I catch ya 'round here againβmessin' with my neighbor, I will have yer ass breathing through a custom airhole, understood?" He pressed the tip deeper, voice low, then louder. "Understood?!"
"Y-yes, yes! Understood!" The man begged, tossing his head back in a weak attempt to make space between his throat and the rusty tool.
Daryl used his last ounce of strength to hurl the man to the ground, where he stayed for a second, before scrambling back on his feet to run off. Daryl held his ground until the man disappeared from sight, and only then did his shoulders slump. He braced a hand against the trailer, visibly struggling to stay upright.
You quickly moved towards him, offering a shoulder for him to lean on. "Daryl, what is it?"
He shook his head, trying to straighten up on his own. "M'fine, girl. Just the heat."
You frowned, pressing your hand against his damp forehead. "You're burning up! Come on, let's go inside."
Daryl resisted yet somehow ended on your couch.
He groaned, watching the ceiling fan spin on the ceiling, though it was turned off. Or was it turned on? Everything in the room was spinning, regardless.
He turned to the side to find you hovering over him, messy hair spilling from your bunβbrows knit together, focused on taking care of him as if he was worth the trouble. You brushed the damp strands from his forehead before pressing an ice pack against it. He flinched at the cold shock, then sighed and melted deeper into the nest of cushions.
S'comfy... smells good...
"The hell is this?" He muttered, attempting to lift his head to look around, only for you to stop him.
"You're in my place. Now stay still. Don't be difficult."
"Difficult? I jus' saved yer ass."
You clicked your tongue, both grateful and mad at him. "Well maybe next time, don't tell other people I pay manual labor with cake, alright? Apparently, that's code for something else around here..." You tried to brush it off as a minor inconvenience, as a joke even, but it was clear you were shaken up by the situation. He could feel the unsteady grip you had on the icepackβeyes darting from him to the door as if expecting another unwelcomed visitor, sent by Dixon, to show up.
Daryl wrapped his fingers around your wrist, lowering your hand with the icepack. The kicked puppy look on your face made his chest ache more than any sickness. "Not sure if it's the fever, but yer makin' no sense. I didn't say any of that, y/n."
The gentle yet firm hold he had around your wristβthe way he called you by your name made your heart flutter. You wanted to believe that at least one person had your back around here. You wanted to believe him, especially.
So that meantβ
"Oh." You let out a dry chuckle at the realization. "Guess I made the wrong impression on your brother."
"Merle? What does he have ta do with this?"
"Last night, when I dropped off your cake heβ"
Daryl didn't need to hear the rest to figure it out. He abruptly got upβfever be damnedβready to beat the shit out of his own flesh and blood.
~~~He'd made his way back to his trailer late at night from a walk to the gas station for painkillers. He glanced at your trailer to see if all the lights were out before heading inside. He found Merle in front of the TVβmouth open, empty cans sprawled around his feet. Nothing out of the ordinary, but then he stopped and squinted, doing a double-take when he noticed a powdery substance around Merle's mouth. Damn pig, he thought, but he was too tired to question it, let alone care.
He would not know you'd been there a few hours ago. ---
"Merle, you son of aβ" He felt a flicker of disappointment for missing the cake you made for him, but it was overrun by the anger he felt towards Merle for running his mouth like thatβdragging your name through dirt before you'd even settled down. He knew how fast rumours spread around here, and how hard they clung once they did.
He wasn't sure if it was the fever that made him want to vomit on the carpet in that moment. No. It was the guilt in his stomach trying to claw its way out.
He had stolen from you.
Fantasized about you.
Like his brother, like that bastard moments ago...
He wasn't any better.
You pressed a hand to his chest, easing him back onto the couch before he could throw himself into a fight you knew he had no chance of winning in his condition. "Did you at least get to try the cake?"
Daryl just turned his head away.
You took that as a no and walked to the stove to make teaβsomething with ginger and honey for him. His voice was still charmingly rough, but you could tell each word scraped at his sore throat. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed you were the one who said those things about me," you said, grabbing two of your silliest mugs, hoping it would lighten the mood.
Daryl winced. "The hell are ya apologizing for? The only thing y'done wrong is move into this dump," he muttered, eyelids becoming too heavy to keep open.
Christ, if it was easier when the only thing I wanted was to jerk-off to yer panties.
The realization landed like a punch. He wanted you to bake for himβto fuss over him when he got sick. He wanted to stay on your couch, drink tea from that ridiculous mug with boobs on it... He wanted to know how your days went. He wanted to keep you safe, help you with your garden tomorrow, then the next day, and the day after that, for as long as you'd let him.
Daryl wanted whatever this was with you.
You sat down on the coffee table in front of him and set the mugs aside. Sometime during those minutes you were making tea, he'd stretched out, muttered something about you living here being a mistake, and then closed his eyes.
You knew better than to take anything he said in his state personally, yet you still found yourself sitting alone with your thoughts, and the possibility of staying or going.
You leaned forward to trace the slope of his nose with your fingertip, getting a twitch from him before he swatted lazily at your hand.
"You saying I should move away, Daryl?" You whispered it more to the room than to him, but still, you hoped he would wake up and tell you what you wanted to hear.
You could move away as many times as you wanted, but loneliness waited for you everywhere you went. It had become a sort of entity that, in its attempts to protect you from other people and the heartache that came with them, only made things worse.
Daryl saying that you being here was wrong felt like waking from a dream before the good part happened. Deep down, you were just a lonely girl who always kept a suitcase within reach, never stopping her dreams of the day she would turn around and find she was worth chasing after.
Maybe it was time for you to wakeup for good.
smut below the bow
You sighed, getting up to leave when a hand reached out for you.
Daryl's calloused fingers found their way to the back of your neck, pulling you in until his mouth crashed against yours, drawing a gasp out of you.
The kiss was messy. Salt from his fever mixing with the lingering sweetness from the tea on your tongue. Inexperienced. Teeth crashing. Noses in the way. Desperate. In its attempt to keep and possess something too precious to let go of.
He pulled you onto the couch, rolling on top of you, tossing cushions out of the way to make space. He wasn't sure if this was a fever-induced dream, but he couldn't stop kissing youβnot when you were finally within reach, yet talking nonsense about leaving.
He felt your hands ball in his shirt, struggling to push him off. He groaned, unlatching from your mouth unwillingly, but with enough restraint left to do so.
You looked wrecked trying to catch your breathβeyes glossy, bottom lip swollen, a string of spit that could've belonged to either one of you on your chin, and sweat pooling in the hollows of your collarbone due to his fevered body heat. He cradled your face with his hand, and you melted into itβbreaths evening out and eyes fluttering shut to take in what just happened.
You looked so sweet that he couldn't believe it, so he pinched your cheek hard enough to make you yelp.
"Mm! What was that for?!"
He shrugged. "Jus' Checkin' if I'm dreaming.'
"That's not how that works, idiot!" you snapped, then turned your head away when he didn't break eye contact, like you were used to. Oh, and now he kissed you? The fever must've melted something in his brain, you thought, looking for an explanation for your dreams becoming tangible.
"You're not thinking straight. We shouldn't bβ"
"Not like I'm drunk, girl."
You rolled your eyes but couldn't help smile.
Then you noticed the hollows under his eyes and the tremors in his arms on either side of your head. Clearly, he was fighting to keep from collapsing on top of you, and you couldn't just ignore it.
"You need to rest, Daryl."
"Nah, I need..." He signed hard. "I need ya, please."
You swallowed the lump in your throatβheart racing, resolve crumbling just from a plea and from the way he looked at you, like you were the night sky. It made your hands reach for him before your brain decided otherwise. "Just go slow."
"Slow's alright."
You cupped his face, thumbs brushing the flush across his cheeks, before drawing him closerβhis eyes closing. The meeting of lips was slower this time, but just as needy. He let out a whine against your mouth, and the sound made heat pull between your thighs until you felt a heartbeat there. Your hands moved across his shoulders, tracing the curve of his strong biceps before sliding down his toned back. You found the hem of his shirt, lifting it just enough to slip your hands underneath the fabricβfingertips mapping the line of his spine, tracing the unexpected ridged scar tissue that made your brows knit together in wonder.
He tensed.
"Don't." The word came out harsher than he intended, but the vulnerability under it didn't escape you. "Jus' keep 'em on my hair."
"O-okay."
When he felt your hands settle in his hair again, he relaxed then kissed your neck, the space between your breast, your belly. His decent continued until he settled between your thighs, hoisting them so they would rest over his broad shoulders. He pushed up your dress, exposing another exact pair of the panties he took.
He cursed under his breath or maybe it was a prayer; you couldn't hear clear enough over your own breathing.
He leaned forward and tugged at the little blue bow with his teeth, the elastic snapping back against your skin with a sting. You giggled, nervously, and ruffled his hair. He smirked, nuzzling the damp spot forming in the center of your panties.
You gasped, lifting your hips to chase the teasing friction. He gave your clit a kiss over the cotton, then another. It felt better than you could've imagined, but it wasn't enough. You didn't want him to go slow after all. "More, fasterβanything," You whined, impatiently. "Please, it aches."
"Mm, that right?" He teased, hooking his finger around your panties to pull them to the side, exposing your drenched pussy. "Look at ya, S'pretty." He drawled, before he licked a stripe from your entrance to that engorged, pink button. He closed his eyes, savoring the taste and those shy little sounds you made after each kitten lick.
His poor cock was strained and leaking precum inside his boxers, so he couldn't help grind against the couchβdesperate to ease his own ache. If it wasn't for the fever he would've carried you to bed and fucked you properly by now. Make every fantasy he once poored into your panties a reality.
He tried not to think about it too much for the sake of keeping his load in, but it was easier said than done.
his cock bulging in your belly, cum spilling out when he was finished, only to go at it again and again, until you got knocked up with his redneck babiesβtrapping you forever.
Breathe, dammit. Gotta make her finish 'fore I pass out or cum, he thought, and then the possibility of just dying while eating you out made a delirious, gravelly laugh rumble in his throat.
The never-before-heard sound made your head clear up abruptly. You knew he wasn't in his right mind, but still, you felt your face burn from whatever it was he found so funny. Without so much as a second thought, you flicked his forehead hard, just in case he was laughing at you.
Daryl sent you a glareβgiving your hip a sharp smack in return, before he gave you something better to blush about. His lips wrapped around your clit, sucking on it until your eyes rolled back into your skull and your fingernails clawed at his scalp.
"Ohmmβfuck!" You cried, squirming under himβshyness out the window.
He groaned against your skin, his mouth relentless. That' more like it.
He swirled your clit over and over, guessing you were close by the drunk look on your face, and the way you began to fuck youself up into his mouth with short rocking motions.
"Ya like that, huh?"
"Y-yeah, baby, so good," you whimpered, the petname nearly undoing him on the spot.
Baby? Shit, I ain't gon' last.
Daryl lifted his head, replacing his tongue with his thumb, drawing tight circles around your clit, while he waited for saliva to gather under his tongue. "FuuckβCome on, sweetheart." He spit right on your pussy, thumb speeding up and mixing all the fluids together. "Y'can do it."
That definitely did it.
You cried out as the tight knot in your belly finally snapped. Insides spasming. Vision blurring. Heat spreading from your core to your limbs, until you trembled.
He groaned against your pussy as a warm gush of juices hit his tongue. He lapped every drop, like the parched mutt he was, until his poor cock couldn't take it anymore. He dropped his head on your lower belly cursing through gritted teeth as he drove his hips against the couch hard, until thick ropes of cum shot out, leaving a pathetic mess in his jeans.
The room fell silent as you both went slack, leaving only the electric hum of the old appliances and the patter of rain against the windows fill the space was once occupied by ragged breaths and pleasure-slick skin.
Then Daryl's breathless voice cut through the silence. "You move away, sweetheart...I'll hunt ya down."
The tender threat pulled you out of your dazed state. Your opened your mouth to say somethingβyou needed toβbut then you heard it. You lowered your gaze toward the sound, expecting blue eyes to be waiting for you. Instead, you found his cheek smooshed against your belly, brows relaxed, and his lips slightly parted.
Snoring
You bit your lip, suppressing a laugh, then ran your fingers through his hairβgentle enough not to jostle him awake, though even in sleep, he frowned and tightened his hold around your middle.
He could sleep for as long as he wanted, you thought, because for the first time in a long time, staying exactly where you were didn't feel like such a bad idea.
π FIN π
Note:
I love old Daryl, but I had this scenario of young 20's Daryl living in a trailer park snatching panties, and yup.
This is my first time writing smut, so have mercy on me!!!
The word clit doesn't sound like a real word anymore.
Anomia will forever kick my ass. It took me 10 minutes to remember the word curtain.
Hope ya'll liked it! This was so far the longest fic in my drafts. Never again. Gon' stick to shorter ones for a while. My poor brain.
(Dividers by: @uzmacchiato and @kthice )
Some little fun facts:
β’ Concrete after lighting is a perfume that exists.
β’ The title of the fic is the song reader was listening to while tanning.
β’ Read an article on autism symptoms improving amid a fever. Being sick = clarity of mind, better eye contact, less anxiety. That influenced how I wrote Daryl. I just noticed.
β’ Merle is an ass (Gotta love him though)
Why do I get the feeling that reader will not only get sick after this, thanks to Daryl, but get knocked up embarrassingly quick, like after their first time, and become young parents?? Uncle Merle is just relieved that his baby brother isn't a fairy, like he suspected for a second there. Pfft funny.
Bonus! perfume moodboard:
This work of fiction was written while listening to...
β’ Daryl's hair was fair blond when he was little, but it darkened as he grew older, though the ends remained lighter than the rest.
β’ His birthstone is garnet.
β’ His childhood was not gentle, and he didn't know it at the time, but his upbringing would keep him alive in the long run.
β’ He was loud, bright-eyed, and reckless as a child. He'd climb trees, go bullfrog catching, and go to his neighbors plot to use their dirt bikes.
β’ He was all those things until he had to start walking on eggshells. Being too loud or too quiet won him the same fate. It started with the back a handβrough knuckles against his cheek, then a belt, then whatever tool was at his old man's disposal.
β’ He still remembers being in the garage and his dad reaching for a rubber hood-seal to use as a whip.
β’ He carried his scars both physically and emotionally.
β’ Whereas most people had to adapt to poor conditions, being exposed to the elements, hunger, and human depravity when the apocalypse happened, Daryl was already molded to face it from a young age.
β’ Hungry? Go hunt. It wasn't safe at home? Have a tent in the woods. Getting his hands dirty in a fight? It wouldn't be the first time.
β’ He hardened out of survival, because no one would ever dare to come close to a dog that bared its teeth.
β’ Preteen Daryl would tag along with Merle and his older friends. Merle would tell him to go get his jacket only for Daryl to go back and find they had left without him.
β’ It turned into him trying to prove himself. He'd pretend to handle bets like stealing from stores, burning himself with lighters to see how long he could last before his eyes swelled with tears, and drinking above his limits to appear grown.
β’ Merle would go along with the jokesβnot wanting to show he actually cared about someone other than himself, but when his friends planned pranks on unconscious Daryl, like suggesting throwing him in the motel pool across the parking lot they were hanging around in, Merle would cuss them out then carry Daryl home like he were six againβDaryl's head against his shoulder.
β’ Daryl liked to remember his older brother that way. Like someone that would've changed for the better if the clock hadn't run out of time.
β’ Teenage Daryl was the kid your parents warned you about, not because he was a bad kid but because of the family name. He did dress the part, thoughβthe bike, the permanent glare, the poorly made tattoos he did on himself.
β’ He's allergic to red tattoo ink, he found out.
β’ He started school later in life, and it showed from his social skills and reading and writing. He only liked books with pictures, and his writing was unreadable.
β’ Most teachers were cautious, because they had already faced the older Dixon. Though Daryl, for the most part, surprised them in a good way.
β’ He kept to himself, quiet; he'd fidget with his pencil, chew on the pink rubber end. Only once did he get bullied, being called "trailer trash," and it ended with a visit to the school nurse for the other kid. After that, he was cast out by his peers.
β’ Math was his worst subject due to his dyscalculia. To this day, he still counts with his fingersβthe tip of his tongue poking out in concentration. His favorite subject was historyβ stories about the revolution, and extracurriculars, like carpentry. He would carve small sculptures, and found buffing and glossing wood to be just as therapeutic as working on cars with Merle.
β’ His carpentry teacher once put a hand on his shoulder, saying he was proud, that he saw greatness in him. It was the most positive reaction he had gotten from school, from anywhere, yet that was what made him step back and decide he wasn't cut out for itβFor books, schedules, and having someone expect something from him, so he dropped out at sixteen.
β’ If Daryl wasn't alone in the woods or working on something with Merle, you could find him at the local theater at any given hour, watching rerunsβbucket of popcorn between his thighs. Rarely did he pay for the ticket, having figured out how to open the flimsy fire exit from the outside.
β’ Secretly, one of his favorite movies is Hook.
β’ It was a regular Tuesday when the outbreak happened.
β’ He was an adult now but still trying to survive like his younger self. Life was hard, with or without the end of days. The only difference was there were no social norms, meaning the masks people once wore dropped. If you were a bad person, there was no law to stop you; if you were poor, it didn't matter because money was something you used as a fire starter.
β’ And if you stayed soft, you got eaten.
β’ Daryl was in his element. People who once would have changed direction to not cross his path were now depending on him to learn how to hunt, to track; they trusted him to keep them in one piece in the face of a threatβundead or living.
β’ He could have lived his whole life alone in the woods if he wanted. The rest of the world could burn and rebuild itself, and not much of his routine would have changed. Staying hidden would have saved him from going through so much loss and heartache, that's for certain, but it was those moments that shaped him into the person he later became.
β’ Still quiet, still all bark and bite when provoked, just brave enough to let people into that place he guarded with clenched fists for so long.
β’ With age, Daryl is even more stubborn, but he has accepted his limitations with a grumble. He knows there's no way around his hair graying and his steps slowing.
β’ He used to believe his value came from what he could do for others: protect them, search for them, give them the food from his plate, and the vest off his back if they shivered in his presence.
β’ Getting old felt more like a burden than a privilege.
β’ But he is reminded that love is a give-and-take deal. That means caring for others and letting others care for him back.
β’ Old Daryl drinks black coffee while the birds sing in the morning. He works on his truck in the shedβbike resting against a wall, since it hasn't felt the dirt road for a few summers now.
β’ In the afternoons, he lights a cigarette, sits in his rocking chair, and lets the buzzing of cicadas lull him into a nap. There he sees old, familiar faces and hears the laughter of his children, who are now all grown up.
β’ When he wakes up from his nap, he denies ever letting his guard down. He takes the mug from his lover's wrinkled hands, then drinks. He takes his time, for there's no more running, no more looking over his shoulder. Just tea on his lips and stories to tell when the grandkids visit.
β’ Once, a long time ago, a girl told Daryl he would be the last man standing.
β’ Daryl is still living up to those expectations, just not alone.
Dividers by: @kthice
Note: Share your Daryl headcanons if ya'll have any! I love reading them. I didn't touch on Daryl as a partner/dad in detail because those can be a post of their own.
Been working on some fics in the shadows...
My drafts are tired of seeing my dumbass. I have a mechanic bf a/u, trailer park a/u, period comfort, and a doll collector fic to finish editing. Gonna post this first, and tomorrow I'll post something else. Unless I get cold feet. Haven't written a full-on fic since The Boy came out. YES, my type is quiet, dirty men. Bye.
π«Άπ» tagging the talented @holdmytesseract in this short n sweet headcanon post! Ain't gonna put ya through the mess I have in store for laterπ€π€£
Summary: That boy is definitely his father's son - and it shows..
Warnings: mention of friends with benefits, fluff, a snake? dad!Diego
Word Count: 1,1k
Cocktail: TEQUILA - Diego Sheen + COINTREAU LIQUEUR - "We created that." (baby)
a/n: This is the first request I got - and it made me so happy. Thank you, nonny, for sending this! Diego definitely deserves more stories. I hope you like this cute lil' story. π€
π request a cocktail!π
Β°ββ’ discover more... β’βΒ°
It had been casual fun. No strings attached - until it wasn't. Catching feelings was never a part of the 'deal' - of this 'friends with benefits' situation, but as clichè as it sounded, it happened. At least for you. Diego, though, he needed a long moment to come around. Almost a month, to be precise. He pushed you away. Said he wasn't the type for a relationship - or so he thought.
Eventually, he came around - and now, almost five years later, it was astonishing what this fuck-buddy turned romantic relationship had brought the both your way.
Love, like you never experienced before. Trust, so deeply rooted like the roots of a thousand year old tree - and a child. An unplanned miracle...
"No, buddy, look again. You have to do it like that." Diego's voice was the first thing you heard as you shut the door to your car; coming home from an early shift at the little diner you worked in in town. The soft breeze rustled your dress as your eyes searched for your long-term partner in crime - for your favourite cowboy. It wasn't super hot today - luckily. Rather pleasantly warm.
It didn't take you long to find Diego and your now four-year-old son. They were standing across the yard; throwing stones at empty cans which Diego had placed on the wooden fence lining the 'garden'. Both your men were wearing a cowboy hat - naturally. Like father like son, or so they say. While your partner was sporting his ranger gear, your son wore a t-shirt and shorts.
"Look," the man said again and tossed a stone at a can - hitting it perfectly and causing it to fall from the fence. Frankie was next. The boy picked up a stone as well and tried to mimic his dad and threw the stone - missing by a few inches. "Good. That was closer. You're getting better, buddy."
You crossed your arms over your chest and watched them for a moment with a smile on your face. You called it shooting practice without a gun - yet, since the boy was definitely way too young for that. Diego called it can knockdown - a term he would never hear the end of it from you because the both of you knew exactly that it was shooting practice in disguise.
"Can knockdown again, huh?" You finally spoke up; successfully drawing both your men's attention.
"Mommy!" Frankie smiled that cute smile you loved so much and ran over to you - arms open. You crouched down and opened your arms for the little boy as well; embracing him in a big hug. "Kept your daddy on his feet, huh, young man?" He nodded and took a step back - still smiling, but now rather boyish. You giggled and slightly adjusted the cowboy hat on his head; tucking a loose strand of brownish hair out of his face. "Can I play outside some more, mommy - or do I have to go inside?" Frankie asked then β clearly being a little adventurer and definitely with ants in his pants. "Of course," you nodded. "As long as it doesn't get too hot outside." Your son nodded and stormed off.
Diego had watched the both of you; leaning against the fence with his hands shoven in the pockets of his pants. Now that Frankie was 'out of his reach', he lit himself a cigarette. You shifted your attention from your son to your partner. Walking over with a smile, you wanted to greet him properly as well.
"Hey, cowboy," you called him by the nickname he held since day one. Since you saw him all those years ago in that bar, wearing the same cowboy hat he was wearing today. Placing both your hands on his chest, you leaned into him. Diego blew smoke out of his mouth before he turned his face to kiss you; one hand still in his pocket while the other held his cigarette. "Hey, starlight." The scruff on his chin and cheeks slightly scratched your skin as his lips found yours a second time.
"Good day at work?" You nodded; watching Frankie out of the corner of your eyes. "Not much going on. Weather's too warm, I guess." "Mhm," Diego huffed out and took another drag of his cigarette. "Not gonna count for me. Got always something to do." Your expression shifted into sympathy. "I know, handsome, I-"
"Mommy, daddy, look! I found a friend for Bob!" Frankie interrupted you excitedly and caused you to turn around - and what you saw left you a little shocked. You would've lied if you said it wasn't shocking. It wasn't another Iguana like Bob is Frankie was holding, no... Your son held a snake in his hands.
A fucking snake.
"Frankie," you started - still a little overwhelmed and honestly also quite a bit scraed, 'cause it was a snake after all. Yes, it wasn't the first snake you encountered in your life. Especially since you lived with Diego, but snakes could be dangerous after all - and you were anything but a snake expert.
"That's a... freaking snake!"
Your son smiled triumphantly. "I know! Cool, right?!"
You blinked and looked appalled - seeking help and gazed behind you at Diego, who had a hard time to stop himself from laughing. "It's a California kingsnake. Harmless," he mouthed at you with a suppressed smile.
"Can we keep him, mommy? I'm going to name him... Bill! Bobby and Billy!" You sighed and inhaled deeply and slowly moved forward to crouch down again to be on Frankie's eye-level.
"Baby... I don't think Bob would like a snake as a buddy, to be honest. I think you should rather find another Bob for him." Frankie looked at you a little disappointed, but then shrugged his small shoulders, "Oh, 'kay, mommy." and gave in easier than you anticipated. He swiftly turned to bring the California kingsnake back to where he found it.
You turned back around to look at your partner again; still kinda shocked. And Diego? He just grinned. "Bob wouldn't like to have a snake as a friend, or you, starlight?" Diego teased you. Your answer was throwing him a death glare. The ranger just cracked a small laugh - and quickly reeled you in his arms once more.
"We created that," you said with a smile; shaking your head and vaguely gestured at Frankie across the yard with the hand that wasn't resting on his shoulders.
Diego huffed out another laugh. "Yeah, we did."
Tagging peeps who are probably interested in this... @angelwings-crossbowstrings @levislolita @angelicarlert @bigbaldheadname @needusreedus @dixondisease @boondockreedus @twd-bee3 @olive-gardens @luvnormie @smuttfuelled @urdeaddixon
