filthy li’l thing.
⌖part two⌖
daryl dixon x fem!reader
➶➴ summary: the night passes. the pull doesn’t.
➶➴ tags: nsfw/mdni/18+, dom!daryl (kinda), brat!reader (kinda), power imbalance, power struggle, praise kink, degradation kink, humiliation kink, obedience kink, control dynamics, possessive behavior, rough handling, minor pain play, forced proximity, enemies to lovers (sorta), mutual obsession, sexual tension.
wc: ~5.8k
⌖part one⌖
the dawn came low and heavy, bleeding a pale, sickly yellow through the slatted walls of the barn. the rain stayed away, but the fog had rolled in to replace it.
you woke up with the cold deep in your bones, the phantom weight of his hand still pressed against your mouth, and a deep, burning ache between your thighs that felt less like satisfaction and more like a brand. across the loft, daryl was still out, buried in his thin, dirt-stained bedroll, his back a curved, impenetrable wall of dark denim and shadowed canvas. his breathing was deep, slow, and measured—the only rhythm in the dead quiet of the morning.
you didn't look at him for long. the defiance that had been burned out of you the night before was crawling its way back up your throat, sour and demanding.
“this changes nothing.” those were your words. you meant them. but as you looked at the broad line of his back, a toxic mix of humiliation and desire coiled in your gut. he had made you crawl. he had used his fingers and his knife to peel back your armor until you were nothing but a shivering, sobbing mess in the hay, begging for a touch he gave like a handout.
moving like oil, you slipped out of the hay. your boots didn't make a sound against the floorboards; you’d learned how to walk light before the world ended, and years of dodging the dead had made you a ghost when you wanted to be.
you crept toward the corner where his gear was stacked. his crossbow sat leaning against a splintered post, looking like a piece of salvaged iron. the black nylon strap hung loose. you reached out, your fingers wrapping around the grip. it always felt bulkier and cruder than the bows you’d grown up with, but you knew how it handled by now. proving that the girl he had pinned and muffled could still strip his prized weapon right out from under his nose while he slept was worth the risk.
you slung it over your good shoulder and slipped down the ladder into the gloom of the lower floor.
unbolting the heavy main barn door just enough to slip your body through, you eased yourself out into the wet cold of the woods, pulling the heavy timber shut behind you so it sat flush against the frame while you were gone.
the fog was so thick you could taste the river on your tongue. everything was slick, the mud clinging to the soles of your boots like wet clay, trying to drag you down with every step.
as you crawled through the dripping brush, keeping low to the damp ground, your mind kept slipping backwards, trapped in the memory of the loft. every time a wet branch bounced against your cheek, you felt the rough drag of his thumb across your bottom lip. your thighs rubbed together with every step, the friction a sharp, stinging reminder of how wet you’d been for him, how easily he’d unraveled you with nothing but a few low words and a steady rhythm.
“filthy li’l thing.” the words repeated in your head, a degrading pulse. he looked at you like you were something he’d found in the dirt, yet he’d consumed you with a hunger that felt personal. it made your stomach flip and you hated him for it.
your eyes caught the muddy, wet line of tracks near a collapsed sweetgum tree. three turkeys scratching through the damp leaf litter.
you dropped to one knee, the cold mud soaking through your denim instantly. you brought the heavy crossbow up, resting your elbow against your thigh to steady the weight. the sight aligned. your fingers were steady on the trigger, but your heart was hammering against your ribs. you didn't want his praise anymore. you wanted to provoke him. you wanted to see that mask of his crack until the wild, angry animal underneath came roaring back out.
you breathed out, watching the fog rise from your own lips, and squeezed.
the thunk of the string was a flat, wet sound in the mist. the bolt took the largest bird out clean, striking where the neck met the body. the animal dropped instantly. the other two vanished into the morning mist.
"ain't hard," you whispered fiercely into the quiet woods, a bitter imitation of his drawl.
you retrieved the bolt, wiping the thick blood against the wet grass, and slung the massive bird by its legs over your shoulder opposite the bow. its dead weight pressed hard against your back, the warm fluid slowly soaking through the fabric, staining your back with the sharp copper smell of blood. the hunt had taken longer than you’d meant it to, and by the time you turned back toward the sagging silhouette of the barn, the sun was high enough to turn the fog into a blinding, white glare.
when you pushed the main door open and stepped inside, you turned immediately and threw the iron bolt home. the metal latch dropped into place with a heavy, final click, securing the perimeter before you even turned to face the room.
the air inside was already thick with malice, feeling like a weight against your chest.
daryl was standing at the base of the loft ladder, out in the wide, open center of the floor space where the ashes of last night’s fire sat cold. the dirt around his boots was scuffed, kicked up where he’d clearly been tearing the lower level apart searching for his weapon before realizing that you and the crossbow were both gone. his bedroll was packed, his vest pulled tight, and his knuckles were white where his hands clenched at his sides. when his eyes found you, the breath caught in your throat.
"told ya," he rasped, his voice a low, gravelly scrape that barely carried across the dirt floor. "don't touch my shit."
you didn't back down. the adrenaline from the hunt morphed into something uglier, something sharp and combative. you walked right into his space, letting the massive bird hit the dirt floor between you with a wet, solid thud.
for a long, tense beat, daryl’s eyes flicked down to the carcass, taking in the clean, precise puncture where the neck met the body. he stared at it, then his gaze traveled up to the crossbow slung over your shoulder. a flicker of impressed annoyance crossed his features—he knew exactly what kind of shot that took, and he hated that you’d pulled it off. his jaw tight, his expression locked down instantly.
"brought you breakfast," you said, your voice dripping with a mocking, sweet defiance that you knew would prick his pride. "since you can't seem to bring back anything bigger than a fist."
daryl stepped forward, crowding you. before his chest could even brush yours, his boot shot out, kicking the massive bird out of the way, sending it sliding across the dirt floor where it hit the base of an empty horse stall. he pressed into your space, trapping your boots.
"think you're real smart, don't ya?" he hissed, his face inches from yours, his breath hot and angry against your skin. "you ain't nothin' but a damn headache."
"the headache that's keeping us from starving," you shot back, matching his heat note for note, leaning up into his space until your jaw was set against his. "maybe if you spent less time throwing tantrums and more time looking for actual game, i wouldn't have to do your job for you."
"do my job?" he muttered.
before you could even blink, his hand shot out. his fingers didn't just grab the bow; his palm slammed against your collarbone, shoving you backward with a violent force. he kept driving you back, away from the central clearing and the entrance, forcing you deeper into the barn until your spine cracked against the splintered wood of the horse stall wall.
as your back hit the wood, your head jarred back, catching a sudden glimpse of pale gray daylight cutting through a low-set, broken window pane along the side wall of the stall. the jagged remainder of the glass was caked in grime, casting a dull shadow into the corner.
his hand lingered for a fraction of a second, his thumb intentionally catching the edge of the raw skin where the nylon strap had dug into your shoulder again like he had done yesterday. the crossbow clattered against his foot, breaking its fall to the dirt, before he shoved it to the side with his boot.
he closed the distance, pinning your hips with his thighs, his coarse denim pressing against your aching center. his hand wrapped around your throat—not enough to choke you, but enough to force your chin up, his thumb digging hard into the soft skin beneath your jaw.
"runnin' your mouth," he growled, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear until you whimpered. "keep stealin' my damn bow. actin' like ya got somethin' to prove."
he let out a short, mocking grunt that vibrated against your throat. his free hand snaked down behind you, his broad palm flattening against your lower back. his fingers smeared against the cold wetness on your shirt, pulling his hand back just enough to look down at the sticky streak of animal blood on his skin. his jaw tightened, a sharp, venomous smirk cutting through his features.
"can’t ever just listen, can ya?" he spat.
the words hit the room like a blow, making your core instantly tighten with a violent, electric gush of heat. you pulsed around the words, your belly turning over as he stared down at you with resentment.
his eyes flicked toward the discarded carcass by the stall, then to the blood smeared on his hand, then back to you. "what, ya some kinda bird dog now?"
instead of reaching for your buttons, his hand shot straight down to your crotch, cupping you hard right over the thick fabric of your jeans. his palm flattened against your center, his fingers spreading wide to lock you in place.
the absolute stillness of the contact was cruel. it was a physical declaration that he controlled your body and he wasn't going to give you the friction you were desperately craving. a helpless whimper escaped your throat, your hips instinctively twitching against his palm, begging for movement, but his hand remained like stone, pinning you flat against the stall wall.
"shut up," he ordered, his thumb pressing harder into your throat, cutting off your breath just enough to make your head spin.
he abruptly pulled his hand away from your jeans, reaching down to yank a steel bolt free from his quiver. with a dismissive, mocking flick of his wrist, he tossed it across the barn. it skittered through the dirt, traveling far across the floor and coming to a halt underneath an old wooden feed trough against the opposite wall.
he didn't drop his hand from your throat; instead, he used his grip to give you a firm, downward shove, pushing you until your knees hit the dirt floor with a dull thud. daryl dropped down with you, crouching on the balls of his feet to bring himself perfectly level with you as you landed on all fours in the shadow of the horse stalls.
“fetch it.” he commanded.
your jaw tightened, the last remnants of your pride flaring up in your chest. you glared up at him through your eyelashes. “fuck you,” you spat.
“i ain't askin’ ya, i'm tellin’,” he growled back, his voice a low, rumbling vibration.
the sheer authority in his tone cut straight through your defiance, making your body submit before your brain could even protest. annoyed at yourself, furious at how easily he could pull your strings, you quickly resolved that if he wanted you to crawl again, you weren't going to make it easy for him this time.
you moved forward, intentionally dropping your chest low, arching your back, and rolling your hips with a slow, deliberate swing as you crawled across the barn floor toward the far trough. it was a silent, mocking provocation—using the very submission he demanded to mess with his head.
daryl’s breathing hitched. his boots shifted heavily in the dirt, a sudden, ragged intake of air betraying just how much the view was tearing through his restraint. his knuckles went white, and his eyes locked onto the movement of your hips with a rigid fury. you could hear the tense, tight clicking of his jaw; your slow, seductive movements were turning his own game into a torment, driving a spike of raw tension through him.
you reached the shadow of the trough, deep in the perimeter of the barn and far from where the low window sat. instead of reaching out with your hand, you leaned down, parting your lips, and clamped your teeth firmly around the cold metal shaft of the bolt.
turning around slowly, you carried it back to him crawling, holding his intense, burning gaze the entire time. when you stopped right in front of him near the stalls, daryl didn't move. for a long, torturous beat, he just looked at you, his eyes dark and dilated.
his gaze dropped to the bolt clenched between your teeth. for a second, he just stared. then, his fingers slid over your hair once—petting your head.
"atta girl."
the softness lasted for a split second before his grip snapped tight. his fingers tangled roughly into your hair right at the roots, pulling back with sudden force. the sharp yank caused your jaw to drop, the steel bolt clattering out of your mouth and hitting his lap before he tossed it aside in the dirt.
daryl then pulled you hard toward him slightly, dragging your face up to his as he surged forward to sloppily kiss you. it was a collision of teeth and tongues, wet, desperate, and completely devoid of the restraint he’d tried to maintain all morning. a low groan ripped from his chest as he moved against your mouth.
meeting his frantic energy, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pushed him hard from his crouching position. daryl went down, his boots sliding as he landed firmly on the ground, his back slamming hard against the wood of the stall with his legs spread out in front of him. your mouths never disconnected. you scrambled over his thighs, crawling directly into his lap and straddling him, your movements urgent and maddened by the sudden shift.
breaking the kiss for a fraction of a second, you gasped for air, looking down at his flushed, dirt-stained face. the temptation to push him further was too strong. "look at you," you whispered, trying to flip the power dynamic. "on the floor, begging for a piece of—"
"said shut up," daryl shot it down instantly, his voice a dark growl that sliced through your words.
his hands clamped onto your hips, checking your movement before you could reply. with brute, uncompromising strength, he forced your hips down, grinding you heavily against him right over your clothes. the sudden friction against your denim-clad core was a shock to your system.
with that single movement, the masks of resentment you both wore fell away. the pretense crumbled. the sheer, overwhelming reality of how good it felt took over completely. daryl’s head fell back against the wood, his face deeply flushed, his breathing ragged and uneven. you let out a loud, uninhibited moaning sound, your hands gripping his shoulders as he pulled you against him again and again.
suddenly, a sharp sound cut through the barn from the side wall.
every muscle in daryl's body locked up. his eyes snapped toward the broken pane of the low-set window right at the end of the stall row.
through the jagged opening, a rotting gray face suddenly pressed against the frame. a bloated, decayed arm shoved blindly through the shattered gap, its grey fingers clawing at the empty air, scraping aggressively against the splintered frame. the remaining shards of glass rattled as the creature rammed its weight against the outer wall, yellowed teeth snapping as it tried to force its way through an opening far too narrow for its body.
pure panic flashed in both of your faces. you were completely vulnerable on the dirt floor, and with the walker suddenly at the side window, the space felt incredibly small. thanks to your earlier caution, the main door was securely bolted shut, but the raw sound of the intruder at the glass turned the momentum between your bodies into a knot of frantic adrenaline.
neither of you stopped. but the rhythm changed—it became a frozen, agonizingly tight struggle against the silence.
your breaths came in short, panicked gasps against his neck. daryl’s face was strained, his eyes squeezed shut as he rode the edge of falling apart. his right hand left your waist, moving quickly up your chest to clamp his broad palm firmly over your mouth, stifling your whimpers into the dirty skin of his hand. he leaned up, his mouth pressing directly against your ear, his breath hot and completely wrecked as he silently acknowledged how hard it was for you to hold it in.
the dead fingers kept scraping against the wood surrounding the window, the low, wet gurgle in its throat rattling right through the slatted wood. you both froze completely, chests heaving, hips locked in a torturous, unmoving press as the shadow lingered right at the glass, its arm still thrashing through the gap, trying to find purchase. the threat remained, stretching the quiet into an unbearable, terrifying weight.
tears gathered in the corners of your eyes from the sheer, agonizing pleasure of the static pressure.
“shh. i know, i know,” daryl murmured in a harsh, mocking, strained whisper against your ear, his voice trembling with the dual strain of the danger and the heat between your thighs.
your body tightly wound, resuming your movements at the sound of his words and trembling under his hands as you struggled to keep silent against his palm, the danger sharpening the sensation into something blinding. daryl looked at you, his face a mask of undone, desperate intensity as he neared his limit. "you're... i fuckin’ hate ya," he whispered, the insult breathless and trembling, losing all its venom to the pleasure breaking him while pulling his hand from your mouth.
outside, the frantic clawing against the window frame finally ceased as the walker failed to find leverage through the narrow pane. the shadow shifted, the weight leaving the window as the arm dragged back out through the gap, leaving the remaining glass to give one last, quiet vibration. the shuffling scrape of its boots began to fade, crunching slowly away through the damp leaf litter and back into the wet woods.
"i can tell," you shot back, your voice a broken, triumphant whisper against his ear the second his hand slipped from your lips.
daryl completely fell apart before you, his body tensing into a rigid, trembling line as he spilled himself entirely in his pants. his head buried itself into your neck, a muffled, trembling groan escaping him. as he came down, his body went entirely sensitive, a low, vulnerable whimper escaping his throat as his hips twitched helplessly beneath yours.
the sight of him completely undone—the fierce, cold hunter reduced to a panting, sensitive mess under your lap—was too much. a violent wave of heat crashed through your belly, the intense visual bringing you straight over your own edge, your back arching as a powerful orgasm tore through your core, leaving you shaking against his chest.
for a long minute, the only sound was the uneven rhythm of your breathing fading back into the silence of the barn.
daryl suddenly shoved you off his lap, his movements quick and efficient as he scrambled to his feet. he didn't look at you, his jaw tight and his face averted as he gave his pants a sharp tug, adjusting himself back into the rigid armor of the survivor.
he walked back toward the stalls, reaching down to snatch the dead turkey off the dirt floor by its legs with a tight, angry grip.
“grab your shit,” he growled, his voice once again short, dismissive, and cold as he turned toward his other belongings. “and let's go.”
Perfect perfect perfect! No notes. Eating ts up
