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Daryl learns that you don't think you're pretty (have low self-esteem). It breaks his heart a little. It also confuses the crap out of him.
The first time Daryl Dixon realized something was wrong, it was over a damn mirror.
Not a dramatic breakdown. Not tears. Not even a conversation.
Just a mirror.
The prison had become almost comfortable by then, as much as a place full of concrete cells and chain-link fences could be. People had routines. Jobs. Small rituals that made surviving feel less like drowning and more like floating.
You were standing in one of the empty cells with the tiny cracked mirror someone had scavenged months ago propped against the wall. The afternoon sun came through the narrow window, catching dust in the air. You didn’t know Daryl was there.
He’d only come looking for you because Glenn said you’d taken one of the last clean towels after helping Carol wash blood out of the kids’ clothes.
Instead, he stopped in the doorway.
You stared at your reflection for a long moment before grimacing slightly and looking away.
Not in vanity.
Not in disappointment over some tiny flaw.
More like the sight itself hurt.
Then quietly—so quietly he almost thought he imagined it—you muttered:
“God, you look awful.”
Daryl frowned.
You rubbed at your face like you could erase it somehow.
“Pathetic.”
The word hit him strangely hard.
Before he could think better of it, his boot scraped against the floor.
Your head jerked up instantly.
The expression vanished so fast it startled him. You smiled instead, easy and familiar.
“There you are,” you said. “Glenn send you?”
Daryl just stared.
You tilted your head. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
Lie.
His chest felt weird.
Tight.
He looked at the mirror, then at you.
You noticed the glance and immediately stepped in front of it casually, arms folding.
It shouldn’t have mattered.
But for some reason it did.
A lot.
That night, Daryl couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Which pissed him off.
He was supposed to be on watch, not sitting on the edge of the catwalk replaying your voice in his head.
Pathetic.
The hell was that supposed to mean?
You were… you.
Everybody liked you.
Kids followed you around like ducklings. Carol trusted you. Maggie called you family. Even Michonne smiled more around you.
And Daryl—
Daryl looked for you constantly.
He noticed when you laughed before he even saw you. Knew your footsteps from everyone else’s. Knew how you hummed under your breath while cleaning knives. Knew you tucked your hands into your sleeves when cold.
Knew your smile could knock the air from his lungs.
Pretty wasn’t even the right word for you.
Pretty sounded small.
You were warm sunlight after weeks of rain.
You were soft hands patching wounds.
You were safety.
And apparently you thought you were ugly.
The idea genuinely confused him.
He leaned forward against the railing, scowling into the dark yard.
“How the hell…” he muttered to himself.
“What?”
Daryl nearly jumped out of his skin.
Carol stood nearby holding two mugs of weak prison coffee and looking entirely too amused.
“Quit sneakin’ up on me.”
“You were brooding loud enough for the walkers to hear.”
He grunted.
Carol handed him a mug anyway.
“What’s got you twisted up?”
“Nothin’.”
“Mhmm.”
Silence stretched.
Then Daryl muttered, “She said somethin’.”
Carol immediately looked interested.
“She?”
Daryl ignored that. “Caught her talkin’ to herself earlier.”
Carol waited patiently.
“Said she looked awful.”
Carol’s expression softened instantly.
“Oh.”
Daryl frowned harder. “What d’you mean ‘oh’?”
Carol leaned against the railing beside him.
“She’s always been hard on herself.”
“What for?”
Carol looked at him carefully, like he’d just asked why the sky was blue.
“You really don’t see it?”
“See what?”
“She doesn’t think much of herself, Daryl.”
His brow furrowed deeper.
“That’s stupid.”
Carol barked out a laugh.
“Not stupid. Sad.”
“Well, she’s wrong.”
Carol smiled faintly into her coffee.
“You should probably tell her that.”
Daryl looked horrified.
“Hell no.”
You noticed Daryl staring at you more after that.
At first, it was subtle.
You’d glance up during dinner and find him already looking.
You’d catch him watching while you talked to Beth.
Or when you laughed.
Or while you braided Judith’s tiny wisps of hair.
Every time you caught him, he’d look away immediately like he’d been caught committing a crime.
It was oddly endearing.
Also deeply confusing.
“You got something to say?” you finally asked one afternoon.
Daryl, crouched beside his motorcycle with grease on his hands, blinked up at you.
“Huh?”
“You keep staring at me.”
“I ain’t starin’.”
“You absolutely are.”
He squinted suspiciously.
“You complainin’?”
Your lips twitched.
“No.”
His ears turned pink.
Cute.
You leaned against the fence beside him. “So what is it?”
“Nothin’.”
“Daryl.”
He went back to fiddling with the bike aggressively.
You watched him for a second.
Then softer, “Did I do something wrong?”
That got his head up immediately.
“No.”
The answer came fast. Firm.
You looked surprised.
Daryl swallowed hard.
“You ain’t done nothin’ wrong.”
Something vulnerable flickered across your face before you covered it with a smile.
“Okay.”
But you still looked uncertain when you walked away.
And Daryl felt like the world’s biggest idiot.
A week later, everything got worse.
You were helping Maggie sort clothes in one of the cells.
Daryl hadn’t meant to overhear.
Honestly.
But he’d been walking past when he heard your voice.
“…this one’s cute,” Maggie said.
You laughed softly. “Not on me.”
“It’d look good on you.”
“Nah.”
“Why not?”
There was a pause.
Then your voice, quieter now.
“I’m not exactly the cute one around here.”
Daryl stopped cold.
Maggie looked genuinely baffled.
“What are you talking about?”
You shrugged, focused on folding shirts.
“It’s fine. I know what I look like.”
Daryl’s stomach twisted unpleasantly.
Maggie started arguing immediately.
“You’re gorgeous.”
You snorted.
That sound.
Not amused.
Disbelieving.
Like the idea itself was ridiculous.
Daryl hated it instantly.
“You do realize half this prison’s in love with you, right?”
“Please.”
“I’m serious.”
You shook your head like Maggie was being ridiculous.
Daryl walked away before he heard more because something hot and angry had started building in his chest.
Not anger at you.
At whoever taught you that.
Because people didn’t just wake up one day hating themselves.
Daryl knew that better than anybody.
That night, he found you alone on the outer platform watching the sunset.
Orange light painted the prison yard gold.
You looked peaceful.
Until he got closer and saw the exhaustion in your eyes.
You smiled when you noticed him.
“There’s my favorite grump.”
“Hmph.”
He leaned against the railing beside you.
Silence settled comfortably.
Usually Daryl liked silence with you.
Tonight it felt too full.
“You okay?” you asked eventually.
“Yeah.”
You gave him a look.
“Liar.”
Daryl huffed quietly.
“You?”
Your smile dimmed slightly.
“Yeah.”
Lie.
He recognized that too.
He stared out over the yard for a long moment before speaking.
“Why d’you talk like that ‘bout yourself?”
You went still.
Daryl immediately knew he’d hit something sensitive.
“What?”
“Heard you talkin’ to Maggie.”
Your face flushed instantly.
“Oh my god.”
“She said you’re pretty.”
You groaned softly and covered your face with your hands.
“Please forget that conversation ever happened.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s embarrassing.”
“Ain’t embarrassin’.”
“It absolutely is.”
Daryl frowned at you.
“What’s wrong with you?”
You blinked.
“…Excuse me?”
“I mean—” He grimaced. “Why d’you think that?”
Your expression closed off immediately.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters.”
“No, it really doesn’t.”
“You think you’re ugly.”
The words came out almost accusing.
Not cruel.
Confused.
Heartbroken.
You stared at him.
Daryl stared back stubbornly.
Then you laughed.
And it sounded awful.
“Daryl—”
“No, I don’t get it.”
Your smile vanished.
“You don’t have to pretend.”
“I ain’t pretendin’!”
His voice echoed louder than intended.
You flinched slightly.
Instant regret punched him in the gut.
Daryl lowered his voice immediately.
“Ain’t lyin’ to you.”
You looked away.
“People say stuff to be nice.”
“Nobody’s nice no more.”
That startled a tiny laugh out of you.
Daryl pressed on carefully.
“You’re…” He struggled visibly for words. “Hell, you’re you.”
You blinked at him helplessly.
“That is not a description.”
“It is in my head.”
That made you laugh again, softer this time.
But your eyes still looked sad.
“You really don’t see it?” he asked quietly.
Your throat moved.
“No.”
The honesty in that answer nearly wrecked him.
Daryl looked at you for a long moment.
Then said roughly, “That’s fuckin’ crazy.”
You barked out a startled laugh.
“I’m serious,” he insisted. “Makes no sense.”
“You’re sweet.”
“I ain’t sweet.”
“You kind of are.”
“Nah.”
“You brought me three rabbits because I said I liked stew.”
“You were hungry.”
“You fixed my flashlight.”
“It was busted.”
“You gave me your poncho during winter.”
“You were cold.”
Your eyes softened impossibly.
Daryl suddenly felt very exposed.
“You do sweet things, Daryl.”
“Don’t mean nothin’.”
“It means something to me.”
That hit him directly in the chest.
Hard.
You looked down at your hands.
“I just…” you started quietly. “I don’t know. I’ve never been the girl people look at like that.”
Daryl almost interrupted immediately because that was objectively untrue, but you kept talking.
“There’s always someone prettier. Someone easier to love. I guess after a while you just stop expecting anyone to see you differently.”
Daryl’s heart broke a little more with every word.
Because you sounded so certain.
Like this belief had lived inside you for years.
“You think nobody sees you?” he asked.
You shrugged weakly.
“Not like that.”
Daryl stared at you like you’d lost your damn mind.
Then before fear could stop him, he said:
“I do.”
Silence.
You looked up slowly.
Daryl suddenly wanted to fling himself off the prison roof.
But he kept going anyway.
“Always do.”
Your lips parted slightly.
“You’re pretty as hell.”
You looked genuinely shocked.
Not flattered.
Not coy.
Shocked.
Like nobody had ever said it and meant it before.
Daryl felt rage again at whatever people had failed you so badly.
“You got this smile,” he muttered, avoiding your eyes now. “Makes everybody else smile too. An’ your eyes—”
He stopped abruptly, embarrassed beyond belief.
But you whispered, “My eyes?”
Daryl swallowed hard.
“Yeah.”
Your face had gone soft and fragile in a way that terrified him.
“You really mean that?”
The question sounded so small.
Daryl answered instantly.
“Course I do.”
You stared at him for so long he started panicking internally.
Then very quietly:
“I don’t know what to do when people are kind to me.”
Jesus Christ.
Daryl’s chest ached.
Slowly, cautiously, like approaching a wounded animal, he reached for your hand.
When you didn’t pull away, he threaded his rough fingers through yours.
“You ain’t gotta do nothin’,” he said.
Your eyes filled suddenly.
“Oh no,” you laughed shakily. “Don’t make me cry.”
“Wasn’t tryin’.”
“You’re very bad at comforting people.”
“I know.”
You squeezed his hand tighter anyway.
And Daryl realized with startling clarity that he would spend the rest of his life trying to make you see yourself the way he did.
It didn’t magically fix everything.
Daryl learned that quickly.
You still hesitated when compliments came your way.
Still deflected praise.
Still looked confused when people called you beautiful.
But slowly, things changed.
Little things first.
You stopped insulting yourself out loud.
Then one day Daryl caught you looking in the mirror without grimacing afterward.
That felt like winning a war.
And Daryl—
Well.
Daryl became relentless.
Not in loud ways.
Never in grand speeches.
That wasn’t him.
But he showed it constantly.
Saving the last good strawberry for you.
Resting his hand on your back absentmindedly.
Looking at you like you hung the moon.
Calling you beautiful under his breath when he thought you couldn’t hear.
You always heard.
Every single time.
Months later, after the prison, after grief and blood and miles of surviving together, you found yourselves sitting beside a campfire beneath a cold sky.
The others slept nearby.
Daryl sat close enough that your shoulders touched.
You leaned into him naturally now.
Like it was instinct.
Maybe it was.
“You know,” you said softly, “I still don’t really understand what you see.”
Daryl looked over immediately.
Moonlight silvered your face.
To him, you looked unreal.
“I see you,” he said simply.
You smiled faintly.
“Yeah, but—”
“Ain’t just your face.”
You fell quiet.
Daryl stared into the fire.
“You’re good,” he said roughly. “Even now. World’s gone to shit an’ you still care about people. Still kind. Still make everybody feel safe.”
Emotion thickened your throat.
Daryl continued quietly:
“You walk into a room an’ everythin’ feels lighter.”
Your eyes started watering again.
“You gotta stop doing that.”
“Doin’ what?”
“Making me emotional.”
“Hmph.”
You laughed softly.
Then after a long silence:
“I love you.”
Daryl looked at you immediately.
No hesitation.
No fear.
Just truth.
“I know.”
You rolled your eyes. “That is the most obnoxious response possible.”
He grinned slightly.
Rare enough to steal your breath.
Then he leaned closer and pressed his forehead against yours.
“Love you too,” he murmured.
And this time, when he looked at you, you finally—finally—started to believe him.
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Tired of silence, safety, and being Hershel Greene's innocent middle daughter, you traded prayer for provocation on a watchtower shift with Daryl Dixon. You pushed him, taunted him, and tried to force him to see the survivor you'd become—but what you got was more than acknowledgment...
A secret he made sure you'd carry back inside the prison.
The Georgia heat didn't give a damn that the sun had gone down hours ago. It just made your shirt stick to your lower back and your hair curl slightly at the ends. You were up in the watchtower—the one overlooking the field where the walkers tended to herd up like cattle waiting for a slaughter that never really came.
Usually, this was Maggie and Glenn's shift. You'd see them heading up here with that look in their eyes, the one that said they weren't planning on doing much… watching. But Glenn was on a run, and Maggie was helping Beth with Judith, so the usual shift had changed.
Tonight, it was yours and Daryl's.
There wasn't even a chair up here, just the cold concrete and a scratchy blanket you'd thrown into the corner. You were sitting on it now, knees pulled up slightly to your chest, fumbling with the rifle Rick had given you earlier. It felt heavy in your hands, even though you'd been carrying weapons for months now.
Your thumbs traced the scratches on the stock, a nervous habit you always had when you were feeling uncomfortable, though somewhere between the fall of the farm and the discovery of the prison, it got worse.
Shifting the rifle again, you stole another glance at Daryl.
He wasn't looking at you. At least, not openly. But every few minutes, he moved his gaze sideways, and while pretending to adjust your bootlace, he looked again.
Not obvious. Not even enough that anyone but you would notice. But you'd spent enough time watching him since the fall of the farm to recognize his tells: the slow blinking, the twitch of his jaw, and the way his fingers gripped the crossbow stock. Measuring distance, threats… and you.
"What?" You asked under your breath, though you knew he wouldn't answer.
And he didn't.
It should've irritated you, but you were a little too tired already to care right now. Blinking slowly, you tried to fight the urge to just let your head fall back against the wall and drift off to sleep. However, your main problem was that, in the silence, your brain began to wander to places it shouldn't. Back to the farm.
Back to home.
God, it felt like a lifetime ago… A different universe entirely.
Trying to distract yourself, you looked up, watching the silhouette of the man standing at the window. Daryl hadn't moved in almost thirty minutes. He was just as still as a statue, his shoulders tight under that leather vest he seemingly never took off. He even held his crossbow like it was an extension of his arm, not a weapon he could just set down if he wanted to.
It was quiet up here. Too quiet. And again… it gave your brain too much space to wander back to places it shouldn't go.
It went back to the barn. Back to the porch, the smell of tea, and the sound of your dad's voice reading scripture in the living room. You were so different then. You remembered that girl as if she were a stranger—Hershel's middle daughter. The innocent one. The one who wore sundresses and braided Beth's hair and prayed for forgiveness if she even thought a curse word. You were obedient. And you were terrified.
Looking down at your hands, you noticed that there was dirt under your fingernails that no amount of scrubbing could get out and even calluses on your palms from knife handles.
You hadn't prayed in months. Maybe God had stopped listening when the barn burned down, or maybe you just stopped talking when the world started eating itself alive, and you realized there would be no cure.
The time on the road had beaten the obedience out of you, ripped it away bit by bit, until all that was left was this exhausted, tired girl in a new world that was never meant to be.
Shifting on the blanket, you felt it itching against parts of your skin, making you snap out of your thoughts, and you let out a quiet, frustrated sigh, trying to adjust the rifle so the barrel wasn't digging into your hip.
Daryl still hadn't moved an inch.
He didn't look tired like you, and it was almost annoying, honestly. How could he stand there, perfectly alert, while you felt like you were too tired to even stand up, fumbling with your weapon like a child playing soldier?
To keep your eyes from sliding shut, you focused on him again. It was the only thing to do, really. There were not a lot of walkers at the fences right now, and there was no wind rustling the trees, but only the silence and the shape of Daryl Dixon standing guard.
You watched the way his weight shifted from one foot to the other, some kind of restless movement that gave him away.
Everyone else in the group treated the prison like it was the promised land. They had the bunk beds that didn't smell like mildew and the walls that kept the dangers out, as well as a quite regular food supply. You were all settling in, just not Daryl. You'd think he'd finally unclench that jaw of his, but if anything, the prison seemed to make him worse.
Out on the road, he had a purpose—hunt, track, kill, protect. In here? Between the concrete walls, the schedules, and the Council meetings? Well, he looked like he was itching to crawl out of his own skin.
The walls didn't make him feel safe; they made him feel trapped. You'd seen him pacing the cell block at three in the morning when he thought everyone was asleep, checking the locks, checking the perimeter, looking for the threat that his gut told him was always coming.
He couldn't settle and didn't know how to just be without looking over his shoulder.
Now he checked his crossbow again. Probably the fifth time in ten minutes.
It was almost funny, watching him be so careful. Especially in the way he was now with you.
Since you'd arrived here, since you'd survived the time on the road, he'd started treating you like you were made of glass. Like one wrong move, one loud noise, and you'd shatter into a million pieces right there on the concrete.
And he was always near you, or at least close by. Opening doors. Checking corners twice before he lets you walk down a hallway. Checking out your weapons after you cleaned them. And he always made sure you were in the middle of the formation on runs, shielded on all sides.
It was pissing you off. Because it just wasn't how it used to be.
Thinking again, he had been such an asshole back then. Loud and angry white trash. But looking back, with everything you know now, maybe that was just... him.
You swallowed hard, and your eyes looked back at him.
"Daryl?" You said his name softly, but he still didn't move.
"Daryl!" This time, your voice was louder.
His head twitched—but it was not enough to count as acknowledgment or an answer.
"You used to talk to me," you continued. "Even if it was just to annoy me."
Silence.
You remembered one afternoon by one of the wells, the summer heat beating down. You'd been trying to carry a bucket of water, struggling with the weight because you were much weaker then. Daryl had walked past, with a string of dead squirrels hanging over his shoulder. He didn't offer to help. Instead, he'd stopped, spat on the ground near your boots, and smirked.
"Need a hand there, sugar?" He'd drawled, his voice sounding more than just sarcastic. "Careful, 'cause ya don't wanna break a nail. Bet yer daddy won't like it."
He'd stood there and watched you struggle, smirking at you, until you'd gotten so mad you hauled that bucket up out of pure spite, splashing water all over your dress. And Daryl had just huffed a quick laugh—dry and mean.
He used to mock your prayers, leaning against the porch railing while you tried to read your Bible outside, something you always liked to do in the early morning sun, making comments about Jesus and God just to see your face turn red in anger. He'd even make fun of your clean clothes and your quiet voice. If you tripped over a root, he wouldn't help you up; he'd just snort about how girls didn't know how to walk on dirt. He'd even toss gross parts of whatever he was skinning in your direction just to hear you squeal when you were walking to the chicken coop.
Daryl Dixon was mean. He was rough. But he looked at you, and he saw you. He didn't treat you like a porcelain doll that needed to be put on a high shelf; he treated you like a human being and not as if you needed any protection from the world that was about to drag your beliefs down to hell with it.
Now? Now Daryl wouldn't even look you in the eye for more than a few seconds.
It was like he was terrified that if he talked with you, if he acknowledged that you'd toughened up, that you were harder now, he'd lose the only version of you he knew how to handle. Maybe he wanted to keep you innocent. Maybe he wanted to keep you as the farmer's daughter, because that girl might need him sooner or later. This new version of you—the one fumbling with a rifle in the dark, the one who didn't flinch at the sound of a skull cracking—confused him. Scared him, maybe…
But right then and there, you decided that the silence was enough. If Daryl wasn't going to look at you or talk to you anymore, if he wasn't going to acknowledge that you were now a living, breathing person capable of killing a walker just as fast as he could, then you were going to force him to.
You were bored. You were annoyed. And honestly, looking at his back while your own brain replayed the burning barn, the walkers, and everything else you'd lost back then was driving you crazy.
"You know," you started, your voice sounding too loud in the small space. You didn't bother to soften it. "For a guy who acts like such a loner, you sure do stand there like decoration whenever Rick isn't around to give you orders."
Smirking to yourself, you realized that Daryl still didn't turn around. He didn't even tense up. He just tilted his head a bit of an inch to the side, a small movement, and his eyes still looked down on the dark yard below, completely dismissing you.
"Ignore me all you want," you grumbled, feeling a little irritated again. You shifted your legs, letting your boot kick the concrete wall on purpose. "Doesn't change the fact that you look ridiculous. You're trying so hard to look dangerous, but honestly? You just look like a dog."
Still nothing. Just the rise and fall of his shoulders with every breath he took.
It was making you angry. It was like talking to a brick wall that breathed. And Daryl not even trying to react stung more than an insult would have. Standing up, you let the rifle fall away completely to the floor, not wanting to pick it up as you finally walked over to him. Not close enough to touch, but close enough to be even more annoying. You could smell him from here—the dirt, the sweat, and his own personal scent that clung to his vest.
"Is this really it?" You then asked, leaning your hip against the window frame, turning your back to the danger outside just to watch his face. You stared right at his profile, searching for any hint of rage. "Is this Daryl Dixon now? Just… standing? Staring? Acting like the group's favorite guard dog?"
You saw a muscle twitch in his jaw. Gotcha.
"I remember when you weren't," you continued. "Back home, at the farm. You were such an ass. Always spitting on the ground and looking at us Greenes like we were religious little idiots who would've tried to go to church with a walker if we found a prayer that sounded as if it might've helped! But at least you were… I don't know. Alive."
Nothing… Daryl was doing a good job of pretending you weren't there.
"Now look at you," you scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. "It's pathetic. You are pathetic. I bet you don't even remember how to be anything else but a babysitter for Judith."
Pretending to check the perimeter, you turned and leaned forward so your arm brushed right against his vest. It wasn't an accident, and you both knew it. You even felt the muscles in his back stiffen, which was quite a hard, involuntary flinch, but he didn't step away.
"And it's not just with Rick's daughter," you continued, right near his shoulder. "I see the way you trail after Carol. It's sweet, really. Like a little lost puppy that finally found someone to care about. Does she scratch behind your ears, Daryl? Does she tell you you're a good boy?"
He let out a sharp breath through his nose, a sound like a bull getting ready to charge, but you pressed on.
"You used to walk around with that crossbow like you're some kind of dangerous animal," you laughed. "Scowling at everyone. Only grunting instead of speaking. And then I saw you with Judith. 'Little Asskicker…' God, you were practically so happy to hold her! But the vest, the anger, the attitude... Yeah, you're just some white trash redneck playing pretend."
You moved again, stepping around him slightly so you were in his vision, blocking his view of the treeline, and looked at him with pity, though not real pity.
That—somehow—hit. His head jerked to the side, and it wasn't a full turn but a clear sign that was meant to send you a message.
"Ya gotta lot t'say, Greene," he finally spat out, and it sounded like a full, genuine threat, but he still didn't move his body. "Maybe ya shoulda go back t'readin' that damn bible of yers."
You felt a thrill of victory but also a genuine bit of fear. The old Daryl was finally showing up. At least you hoped so.
"Why?" You asked him, refusing to back down. "So I can pray for you? I'm all out of prayers, Daryl. And frankly, the prison is boring. You're boring."
Moving your hand on his back, lower this time, you let your fingers trace part of his belt.
"Honestly, it's embarrassing," you continued, letting your fingers play with the edges of it. "I bet you wouldn't even know what to do anymore! You've probably forgotten how to touch anything that isn't a crossbow or a baby bottle."
You heard his breath hitch, only a little, but enough.
When you stepped an inch closer, blocking his view further, his body reacted before he could think. One hand moved off the crossbow stock, and his fingers flexed like he was about to reach for your arm—to grip you or push you back, you couldn't tell.
But he stopped himself.
"Embarrassin'," he repeated, and he finally, finally turned his head to look at you. Not a glance, but a full-on look. "That what ya think?"
"Looks like it from where I'm standing," you shot back, your heart pounding in your chest.
"A'right. Let's talk 'bout embarrassin'." He turned his body fully towards you now, crowding you without even taking a step. "Let's talk 'bout yer ass. Followin' me 'round since the farm... Think I ain't seein' that shit? Yer hoverin' when I'm cleanin' my kill. Lurkin' 'round me all damn day."
Your face turned red, proving how ashamed you actually felt now. "I never—"
"Yer a bad fuckin' liar," Daryl cut you off, his voice dropping to a growl. "Worse than ya are with that rifle. Ya been waitin' for a fight for weeks. But ya don't wanna fight, do ya? Yer just fuckin' bored. Daddy's little girl ain't got no fences to mend and no dumbass porch t'pray on, so she's gotta find somethin' else to feel useful for once."
Every word was a slap in your face. He saw right through you, past the pretending act and the rifle, straight down to the girl underneath. It was humiliating.
"You don't know anything about me," you hissed back at him, your voice trembling with a bit of shame.
"The hell I don't," he snarled in response, leaning in so close you could feel a few strands of his hair against your forehead. "I know ya still flinch when a damn twig snaps too loud. I know ya can't look at the walkers near the fence for t'long 'fore yer hands start shakin'. Yer ain't shit."
That was what pushed you over the edge somehow, even though you knew Daryl was right. With a choked cry, you swung your hand, aiming to knock that sudden smirk right off his face.
But you never stood a chance.
His hand moved faster than yours, and his fingers wrapped around your wrist, stopping the slap an inch from his cheek and making you gasp at the sheer force of his grip.
"Thought so," he grunted. "All talk."
Daryl yanked you forward, using your confusion against you. You stumbled into him, your free hand flying up to brace yourself against his chest and to push back.
"Ya wanna fight, Greene?" He asked, his face only inches from yours. "Fine! Let's fight."
He shoved you back then, not hard enough to make you fall, but enough to make you stumble. Your boot caught on the edge of the scratchy blanket, and you went down, your ass hitting the cold concrete with the rifle sliding away and toward the wall.
Scrambling back to your knees as fast as you could, you launched yourself at him. But you didn't aim for a slap this time; you went low, trying to tackle him down by his waist.
A grunt of surprise was forced out of him as you pushed him back a step, and for a second, you had him off-balance. Then his arms closed around you.
Daryl didn't even need to try to throw you off; he just squeezed, lifting you off your feet. You kicked and thrashed, your elbows digging into his sides, but it was still like trying to fight a brick wall.
Not being able to do anything to stop him, he dropped down, taking you with him. You both landed on the tangled blanket, the impact knocking the wind out of you. He was on top of you in an instant, his knees pinning your thighs, his weight keeping you from moving, but you still bucked around, trying to throw him off, your hands clawing at his arms, his vest, anything you could reach.
One of Daryl's hands caught not only one but both of your wrists, slamming them down onto the concrete above your head. The hold was rough, painful even, and you were trapped.
"Done?" Daryl growled, his chest heaving, but you yelled at him in response.
"Go to hell, Daryl!"
At your answer, he leaned down, his mouth close to your ear. "Been there m'whole goddamn life..."
You then tried to headbutt him, but he jerked his face back, avoiding it easily, now genuinely annoyed. Adjusting his grip, his hips were pressing yours harder into the floor, stopping your thrashing, and the hard edges of his belt buckle dug into your stomach. You were panting, your chest rising and falling ever so fast against his, but Daryl was breathing just as hard.
He was staring down at you, his eyes searching yours in the near-darkness before he finally felt your body go still beneath his.
"I ain't pretendin' nothin'," he grumbled. "'M just seein' what's gotta be done. And what's gotta be done is for ya t'shut yer fuckin' mouth and watch that damn fence."
"No!" You challenged him back, pushing against the weight of him with a tiny movement of your hips. "What's gotta be done is that you stop treating me like I'm still that innocent girl from the farm! I can handle this new life! And I can handle you!"
The lie was out, but Daryl's reaction was immediate. The hard pressure of his body intensified, pressing you down against the floor with a slow, grinding buck that wasn't intentional but was enough to make you gasp.
"Yeah? Ya can handle me?" He scoffed, though the sound was a little shaky. His gaze dropped, moving across your face, down your throat, where your pulse was jumping, and stayed near your tits still trapped beneath his chest. "Ya wanna prove that, Greene? Ya got a real stupid way of goin' 'bout it."
He didn't loosen his grip on your wrists even once. Instead, he twisted your hands just slightly, enough to make you wince, forcing your arms to stretch higher and making your back arch slightly into his weight. You were pinned down, completely under his mercy, completely pissed off, but also terrifyingly captivated by him.
You wanted this. You wanted him. Now. But what you didn't want was to give him the satisfaction of knowing. Of Daryl really knowing how much you desired him. No… You just wanted him to take you. Right there. Right now.And without any hesitation.
"What's wrong, Daryl?" You then taunted, trying to get your feet back on the ground. To win. "What? Is this more excitement than your little Carol-and-Judith daycare duties allow?"
His knuckles went white again, and he moved his head back, giving you a snarl of pure frustration, but he ignored your baiting question.
"When I tell ya to shut up, ya shut up. I ain't havin' ya annoy my ass 'cause yer bored and lookin' for trouble."
"And if I'm not looking for trouble?" You whispered, your heart now pounding so hard it felt like your ribs might crack. "What if I'm looking for you?"
Daryl froze. Every bit of anger left his eyes, replaced by a sudden confusion and then a shocking realization.
For a long, uncomfortable moment, he just stared down at you, his chest heaving against yours, his breath hot on your face. You could see it in his eyes, how the words you'd just said made him think too much and yet not enough all at once.
The realization didn't come gently; it literally crashed into him. His gaze dropped from your eyes to your mouth, then back up, and the look there was no longer about winning a fight when his free hand suddenly moved to your face, cupping your jaw, his fingers roughly stroking the skin of your cheek. His touch felt dirty, without any gentleness, but it felt overwhelming at the same time.
"Shoulda shut that fuckin' mouth now, Greene," he breathed, his eyes seeing you not as the innocent farmer's daughter, but as the complicated, annoying woman who had just brought him to the edge.
Without giving you any time to answer, Daryl closed the final distance. His lips were on yours—slightly dry, rough, and tasting like cigarettes. He moved his head, grinding his lips against yours, wanting a response that you instantly and violently gave.
Freeing one hand of yours, it shot up, grabbing the back of his neck, holding him to your body as hard as you could, and Daryl finally let go of your remaining wrist, only to move one hand and grab the fabric of your pants, tugging at it.
"Off," he grunted against your mouth, his fingers fumbling with the button.
How could you deny a voice so deep and demanding that it made you shiver?
You didn't hesitate. While Daryl fumbled with your pants, your hands went to the hem of your shirt, yanking it up and over your head in one quick move, along with your bra, throwing it aside into the darkness of the watchtower.
The cold concrete hit your skin, giving you goosebumps, but you couldn't care less.
Daryl broke the kiss, his breathing ragged, just to look at you with eyes wandering over the naked skin of your stomach and your tits. It felt as if for the first time he'd truly look at you—the new you, the actual survivor—and his gaze felt more intense than any touch so far.
"See?" You panted, your voice trembling a little, even though you still wanted to prove yourself. "Not so innocent now, huh?"
Daryl didn't answer with words. He just shoved your pants and panties down your hips in one rough, fast movement, dragging them down your legs and off, throwing them somewhere near the rifle. You tried to kick your clothes away, your movements just as desperate as his.
While you were freeing yourself from your clothes, Daryl worked on his own, his fingers fumbling with his belt buckle. He never took his eyes off you, watching you beneath him, naked and waiting, until you heard his belt opening, followed by the sound of his zipper. He shoved his pants down just enough to free himself, his cock springing out, hard, thick, and leaking already.
Leaning himself slowly back over you, his mouth found yours again in another rough kiss as he moved and positioned himself between your thighs.
You could already feel the head of his cock nudging against your pussy, which only made you wetter—if that was even possible. A choked gasp escaped you, your hips bucking off the blanket, desperately wanting more.
But Daryl pulled his lips away from yours again, his forehead resting against your own. "Look at that," he growled, pushing his face a little bit more toward yours, wanting to make sure you were listening to him. "Fuckin' soaked for me. After all that bitchin'…"
Rocking his hips, he was letting the head of his cock slide through your pussy folds, coating himself in your wetness, teasing you with what was about to come. The feeling was maddening—so close to what you needed, but not enough.
"Please, Daryl..."
That's when his hand came up again. Not to hold your face like before, but to wrap it around your throat.
Your eyes flew open wide, but there was no fear—only excitement. And Daryl's grip wasn't painful now; it was just right, his thumb pressing against the pulse pounding in your neck. He squeezed, just enough to make the blood flow louder in your ears, to make the world shrink to just his expression above you, his eyes looking into yours, and the slight pressure of his hand.
"This what ya wanted?" Daryl growled, his grip tightening a bit more, stealing your breath away while he stilled his hips, holding himself right at your pussy. "This what ya been followin' me 'round for? T'get yerself fucked by some white trash dick?"
You couldn't speak, couldn't do anything but nod frantically in response, your own hands coming up to grab at his wrist, not to pull him away, but to hold him still again.
Shit… His hands… They were so big and rough… And that one hand was feeling more than perfect around your throat.
Daryl released the pressure just as your vision started to blur ever so slightly, allowing you to gasp and breathe in air again. He watched you quietly now, seeing the effect he had on you, only to do it again—a slow squeeze, holding you on the edge, his thumb stroking almost gently over your pulse on your throat. And each time he tightened his hand, your body would twitch, your hips bucking up to finally get him to take you.
"Ya really ain't that innocent girl no more, are ya?" He smirked down at you, but you knew it wasn't really a question. Then he finally, finally, notched the head of his cock against your pussy properly, applying the slightest, most torturous pressure.
You shook your head, sobbing a little out of frustration that he wasn't fucking you already. "No... Guess I'm not."
Daryl leaned down, his lips brushing your ear as his hand then relaxed around your throat. "Good..."
That was a promise and a threat all in one. And then Daryl began to push inside.
It wasn't the fast, punishing thrust you'd expected, no… hoped for. It was slow. The thick head of his cock pressed into you, stretching you open inch by inch. Your back arched off the cold concrete, with a broken, whimpering moan torn from your throat, and your nails dug into the bare skin of his forearm, but he didn't speed up. He didn't even flinch.
Daryl just watched you.
His eyes were still fixed on your face, studying every twitch, every flutter of your eyelids, and every helpless gasp. He was buried to the hilt now, so deep you were panting, your body waiting and begging for his movement—for more.
But Daryl didn't move.
He stayed perfectly still, with his weight holding you down and his forearms right beside your head next. The only sound was your ragged breathing and the distant, indifferent moan of a few walkers outside.
"Fuck… Daryl… please," you begged, your voice a choked whisper. You tried to roll your hips to get some kind of movement, but he pressed down harder, pinning you completely.
"'Please' what?" He grunted in amusement, giving you a tiny, circular grind with his hips that made you see stars already. "Thought ya could handle me. This it? This all it takes?"
He pulled out just as slowly as he'd pushed inside, the drag of his cock inside your pussy a different kind of torture, and you whimpered in response, a sound of pure desperation.
"Just—" You whimpered again, trying to adjust, trying to move once more.
But his response was a hissed inhale of breath through his teeth. "Did I say move?"
"P-please…"
All of a sudden, he pushed back in with that same torturously slow pace, filling you up all over again. "Yeah, 'please what,' huh? Use yer damn words, Greene. Y'had so many of 'em 'fore!"
"Please... fuck me," you begged, your voice cracking with need. "Just... move."
"'M movin'," he huffed, pulling back slowly again. His eyes were devouring you, watching the pure frustration in your eyes and the way your mouth fell open, only to close with every dry swallow of air.
One of Daryl's hands moved away from the side of your head, trailing slowly down your trembling side, along your ribs. He watched his own hand as it moved, his calloused fingers scraping a little over your skin, making you shiver. He slid up along one tit next, his finger brushing over your nipple, and you arched into the touch with another gasp.
"Ain't even doin' nothin'. Just bein' inside ya. Y'like that? Like havin' my dick in yer cunt?"
The words from his mouth, so… honest, should have made you feel ashamed. But you could only nod, your ability to form words completely gone by now.
"I asked ya a question."
"Yes! Fuck!" You sobbed in return. "Yes, God, Daryl, please! I'm sorry! Just—"
He rewarded you by pushing deep again, a single, hard thrust that would make you beg for every single inch of what he was about to give you.
And you were. Oh God, you were.
"Daryl... please," you begged again, your voice trembling. "More... shit, just... do it."
He stopped again, his whole body tensing above you. "What was that?" He asked, wanting your words, wanting to hear them louder, once and for all. "Didn't quite hear ya."
"I said, 'Fuck me!'" You cried out, the words tearing themselves from your throat, making your mouth feel dry. "Just fuck me, Daryl, please! I—"
A low, deep growl was his answer—a sound of his satisfaction. It was the sound of him winning and you surrendering, and both of you knowing this was exactly how it was supposed to be in the first place.
Then his hand clamped over your mouth, silencing any other plea you might have had. And the way he thrust back into you with a force that stole the air back from your lungs, the wet sound against the silence of the night, despite the few walkers outside still clawing at the fences, made your choked scream sound muffled against his palm.
Each thrust was moving your entire body, pushing you up the blanket with every buck of his hips.
Daryl's mouth left your ear, moving down your throat next. But he didn't kiss. He bit. A sharp, quick bite on the skin where your neck met your shoulder that made you twitch and cry out against his palm. It was going to leave a mark, a blue and purple bruise you'd have to hide soon, and the thought alone made you shiver.
Daryl was everywhere—his smell, his taste, the weight of him, and the sound of his own ragged grunts in your ear.
"Y'know why I was nice to ya?" Daryl suddenly said, not even stopping his movements. He was teasing you. "Huh? Ya wanna know why I stopped spittin' at yer feet, Greene?"
Wanting you to answer him right away, he gave you a deep, grinding thrust that almost made you go crazy. You nodded, desperate for any piece of him he'd give you, even if it was just words.
"'Cause I saw ya," he answered, his hips never slowing their pace. "Saw ya that day we cleared C-Block. Walker had ya cornered. Ya didn't scream. Didn't cry. Just stuck yer knife right through its eye." He smirked, nipping at your jaw. "Wasn't yer daddy's little girl no more."
He shifted his weight, angling his thrusts differently, hitting a spot deep inside you that made your legs tremble and your eyes roll back.
"Started thinkin'... 'bout what Hershel'd say," he breathed. "Seein' his good, church-goin' daughter... takin' a redneck's dick. Bet he'd pray for yer damn soul."
Those words, the sheer blasphemy of it, with the image of your father, only made your pussy clench around him tighter.
Daryl groaned at the feeling, his rhythm breaking for a second. "Shit... feel that? Y'like me talkin' 'bout yer daddy while I'm fuckin' his little girl's cunt?"
The leather of his vest scraped against your hard nipples with every one of his thrusts; it was almost painful, but you loved it. You loved every moment of it. This was him—all of him that you'd wanted—the dirt and the sweat and the anger, and it was terrifying, but everything.
"'N I had t'be nice, didn't I? Wantin' t'fuck Hershel's daughter. As if ya were a damn preacher's kid. Gotta be a gentleman... Opened doors for ya. Checked yer goddamn weapons. Even made sure ya ate." He said, and suddenly fucked into you faster as if it was nothing. "All I was thinkin' 'bout was this. 'Bout how yer cunt would feel. 'Bout how fuckin' pretty ya'd look with my cum drippin' outta ya."
Daryl had cared, in his own way, while he'd been protecting you because he wanted you for himself, and the thought of anything else touching what he'd already decided was his was unacceptable. This was the man you'd been trying to provoke. And he was fucking you like he was trying to exorcise his own demons right into you.
You could still only moan in response, your body arching and bucking beneath his, desperately meeting his thrusts as best you could.
"Got so damn hard always watchin' ya…"
He finally ripped his hand away from your mouth, needing both hands to grip your hips, his fingers digging in hard as he yanked you toward him with every deep thrust.
"Yer damn daddy," he panted further. "Shit… if he ever looked at me? Would kill my fuckin' ass."
"God, Daryl," you gasped, your head moving from side to side, completely lost in him.
"Shut up," he growled in response. "Needa make sure tomorrow, when yer walkin' past me, all ya can think 'bout is how I feel inside ya."
You were beyond words, beyond any reasonable thought. And it only pushed you closer to the edge. Embarrassingly fast.
"Y'close?" He growled, and it wasn't really a question. He could sense it, the way your body was feeling around his, tightening, ready to shatter like glass. "Yeah, y'are… Gonna come all over my dick, ain'tcha? After all that..."
You swallowed in air, your voice wrecked as you tried to confirm his suspicion. "Daryl... Yes! I'm about to—"
"Yeah," he growled, panting louder as he got closer to the point of no return himself, losing his control. "C'mon. Let me feel it."
And you did.
Your back arched off the blanket, a silent scream stuck in your throat as you came around him, with your fingers gripping uselessly against his vest, your pussy clenching down around his cock in quick pulses. It felt like dying and being reborn all at once, and the only thing holding you back from crying out too loud was the weight of Daryl on top of you.
He was fucking hard into you now, his rhythm completely gone. There was no way he would stop.
"W-wait… Daryl…" You whimpered anyway, your hands pushing weakly at his chest. The reality of what was happening—where you were, what he was about to do—crashed down on you. "Don't… don't, please…"
It was too late.
His body was already tensing up above you. With a final, deep thrust inside of you, he let out a broken groan against your neck. You felt the sudden twitches of his cock and the pulses of his cum shooting into you, making his whole body shudder violently, with his hips giving a few last, helpless jerks as he came inside you.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of your ragged breathing. And as a tear you didn't even know you'd cried escaped, Daryl, still buried deep inside you, went still. He felt the tiny, wet tear against his cheek where his face was pressed against yours now and pulled back just an inch, his eyes searching your face and noticing the tear.
"Hey," he started, his voice still rough but quieter now. Still, he didn't try to wipe the tear away with his hand. Instead, he lowered his head and swiped his tongue over your skin. He was tasting your emotion, taking that too for himself.
"Shut up," he growled against your skin, his lips moving to your jaw, then to the corner of your mouth. They weren't kisses, not really. They were more like bites—soft, nibbling bites meant to calm you down and mark you at the same time. "Yer okay… Promise."
You could feel his heart hammering against your own, but it was beginning to calm down when you nodded. A tiny, shaky movement, and your hands, which had been pushing him away moments before, now came up to grab at his shoulders, holding him there.
He growled in approval, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, his breathing starting to even out completely. The distant moans of the walkers outside were louder now, making you realize that the new world was still there, waiting. Only then did Daryl's hips give a tiny, involuntary buck, a reminder that he was still inside of you.
"S'alright," he then said, staying like that for a while longer until your trembling finally began to go away too.
But the reality of what he'd done—filling up Hershel's daughter with his cum right there on the watchtower floor—seemed to hit him the second his head cleared.
He pulled out of you slowly, and the feeling of him leaving, followed by the warm dripping of his cum, made you gasp. Your eyes, wide and a little shocked, went right away to his face.
Daryl saw it again. He saw the farm girl in your eyes, the girl who'd cared for him after Andrea had shot him, the girl who was always so kind and nice, but also the one who'd probably never had a man finish inside her, let alone without a second thought. Right now, he looked quite guilty and ashamed. But that was gone fast, leaving only a somewhat defensive scowl on his face.
"Shit," he scoffed, looking down at where his cum was already starting to leak out of you, unable to look you in the eye. He wiped his softening cock with one hand on the edge of the blanket, standing up just as fast. "Hell are ya lookin' at?"
You pushed yourself up on your elbows, your body still trembling a little. "You… you just came inside me!"
"Ya got a problem with that?" He shot back, challenging you as he tucked himself away and started fastening his belt. "Ain't like yer damn daddy's gonna find out. 'Less ya run and tell him his good girl got herself filled up by—"
That was it. The mention of your dad again, the sheer audacity of him throwing it in your face now, made you lose control.
With a cry of pure rage, you launched yourself at him, still naked, but furious. You didn't care that you felt his cum slowly slide down your thighs or that your legs were shaking. You just moved.
One of your fists found his shoulder, but it was a weak, pathetic punch that didn't even make him flinch. It just pissed him off.
"Goddammit, woman!" He snarled, and his arm shot out, his hand catching you easily.
The fight was over before it even started. Daryl spun you around, your back slamming against his chest. One of his arms slid across your upper body, pinning your arms to your sides, while his other hand moved across your lower belly, holding you against him.
"Let me go, you bastard!" You yelled, thrashing in his grip, your bare ass grinding against the hard edges of his belt buckle.
But Daryl moved his head, his mouth finding your ear, growling and whispering into it. "Fuckin' stop it," he said, but his voice was not full of anger. The hand on your belly slid lower, his fingers digging into the skin just above your pussy. "Y'want 'nother fight? This how ya wanna get it?"
You went still, panting, and he took full advantage of it. His head moved lower, his teeth finding the same spot he'd bitten into earlier on your shoulder. You cried out, and your head fell back against his shoulder, your eyes closed, and your lips parted on command.
"That's it," he growled against your skin, keeping his lips pressed against it. "Just like that. Fight me all ya want. Just gets me all hard again."
Daryl's hand on your lower belly moved, his fingers sliding through the wetness between your legs, through the mess he'd made that was dripping out of you, and he groaned deeply. "Fuck… Yer daddy's gonna kill my ass."
"Stop… stop talking about him," you begged, but your words sounded way too weak. Your body was betraying you, arching back into him, seeking the feeling of his fingers.
"Why?" He breathed out with a smirk, his middle finger finding your clit, rubbing ever so softly over it, until you jerked in his arms, moaning. "Ya still wanna go prayin' in a church, just t'be spreadin' yer legs for a damn redneck who pisses you off next?"
Daryl's words stung a little, but you knew he was right. He was right in a way that made you want more of this—of him.
"Bet he's sleepin' right now," Daryl whispered, his other arm tightening around your chest, holding you up as your knees began to tremble again. "Dreamin' 'bout his sweet, innocent daughters. Never woulda dream 'bout how I got my cum drippin' outta one of 'em."
You were sobbing now with little broken whimpers, your hands gripping his forearm as the lust was building again.
"Y'gonna come again?" He grunted, his finger moving slightly faster and pressing a little harder.
You couldn't speak. You could only nod frantically, your body twitching in his arms.
"Damn right y'are," he snarled, and that was all it took. Your orgasm came fast, silent, and violent this time, your body tensing in his grip as you shook against him, a long, broken moan finally escaping you. Daryl held you through it with his face buried in your neck, his lips sucking and kissing your skin, bruising it further.
Once it was over and done, your legs gave out completely, and you both sank down to your knees on the scratchy blanket, his arms still locked around you, holding you against him.
"Yeah…" He then said, with his face still nuzzled against the back of your neck. "Ya can handle me."
"And you couldn't just—" You laughed with an exhausted tone in your voice. "You couldn't just... let it be. You had to... had to prove a point, huh?"
Daryl huffed against your back, but what you didn't see was his smirk when he held you tighter. "Point was proved when ya came on my dick the first time."
"I'm—" You answered, trying to squirm, but his arms kept you from moving. "I'm just saying! You didn't have to be such an asshole..."
"Y'started it," he shot back before he shifted behind you, and suddenly, he moved you both once more, back down on the scratchy blanket, your naked skin scraping against it. Daryl then leaned down over you again, trapping you with his body, but that made you angry again.
"Y'shoulda've just asked for it from the start. Woulda saved us both the helluva trouble that ya are."
You tried to kick him somehow, but your leg flopped back uselessly onto the floor. "Go to hell already, Daryl."
"Told ya. 'M already there." He didn't even try to deny it.
You opened your mouth to respond, to call him every name you could think of, but he was faster. His head dropped, and his teeth were finding the already bruised skin of your neck again. Gasping, that sharp bite of his was silencing you instantly while he was kneeling between your legs, and when he pulled back, his eyes were still focused only on you—the bite marks on your shoulder, the sweat on your stomach, and the trail of his cum on your inner thighs.
That's when you saw it. Daryl's one hand was moving past your face, searching for your discarded panties from the tangle of clothes on the floor. He held them up, letting you look at them, before bringing them to his mouth, putting the fabric between his teeth, his blue eyes locked on yours.
"What are you doing?" You asked, trying to sound defiant but only managing to sound confused but ever so curious.
He didn't answer. Instead, he leaned back down lower over you.
What the hell was he doing now? And what exactly was he about to do next?
You found out a second later. Daryl's other hand, the fingers still wet from playing with your clit, moved down your throat next. You thought he was going to touch you there again, to tease you further. But he didn't. His hand slid slowly down your body, right to the sticky wetness on your inner thighs. You felt his fingers, two of them, press against your pussy.
And they didn't tease. They pushed inside you in one move, burying themselves deep.
It was an overwhelming feeling. Daryl's fingers inside you, pushing his own cum deeper, stretching you open all over.
"Feel that?" Daryl growled, the words muffled around the fabric in his mouth as his fingers pumped into you once, twice… several times, making you moan and squirm. "Makin' sure it takes... That it stays in ya."
"Stop—" you begged, but it was a lie, and he knew it. Your body was arching into his touch, your hips making tiny, helpless circles. "Stop… talking like that."
Before you could even form another reasonable thought, his fingers slid out of you, dripping and wet. Your mouth fell open, but he didn't give you the chance. His hand moved to your face, and those same two wet fingers pressed against your lips, making you stare up at him in shock until he tilted his head ever so slightly.
For a second, you resisted with wide eyes, your lips pressed shut in a rather pathetic attempt, thinking you could escape this. Him.
Hesitantly, your tongue darted out, tasting yourself and his cum on his fingers. Then, driven by the shiver that went through your whole body, you opened your mouth and took his fingers in, sucking them clean.
Leaning in closer to you, not to kiss you, but to bury his face against your chest, his nose was brushing along your tits, watching as your nipples hardened again, so close to his lips where he still held your panties between them. But Daryl continued to only watch, though his own breathing was already growing heavier again.
When he was truly satisfied, he slowly pulled his fingers away from your mouth with a soft, wet pop. Still holding your gaze, he dragged those now-clean fingers down your chin until he finally leaned back, pulling the panties from his teeth with his other hand.
"Told ya t'shut yer mouth," he said, his voice rough but still amused. "Now y'know how. And y'ain't bored no more, are ya?"
Daryl's eyes immediately dropped from your face to between your legs. He still held your panties in one hand, looking at them, then back at your pussy, so wet and only his.
With a grunt, he shifted down your body, and you thought he was going to fuck you again, making you tense up in anticipation. But he didn't. He only moved lower until his head was between your thighs, his strong shoulders pushing your legs apart.
"What are you—" You started, but the words died in your throat when he buried his face in your pussy, his mouth letting go of your panties.
It was a rough press of his lips and tongue against it, making you cry out when his tongue licked through the mess as it still leaked out of you. The feeling was so shocking that your hands flew to his hair, not knowing whether to push him away or hold him there forever.
"Fuck, Daryl," you groaned, your hips bucking slightly off the blanket. "God…"
He growled against you, the sound a clear command for you to be still. His hands came up to grip your thighs, his fingers digging into your skin, holding you open for him before his tongue pushed inside you, fucking you with it, trying to clean you out, or at least you thought so.
Then you felt it. The fabric of your panties. Daryl had balled them up in one of his fists and was now pressing them against your pussy with his thumb. His mouth then worked your clit, his tongue circling it, but his thumb was there, trying to push the fabric into you.
The shock of it—the feeling of the fabric—made your body seize up. Your legs, acting on pure instinct, clamped shut around Daryl's head, trapping him there and making him curse against your clit. He struggled for a moment, his shoulders bunching, but you held him tight between your thighs. For you, it was a stupid and powerless attempt to stop whatever was happening, an embarrassing move to get back some tiny bit of control.
To no avail, it all just lasted a few seconds.
With a snarl, Daryl ripped his head free, coming up over you fast. His face was wet and his eyes wild. Before you could even take a breath, one hand was around your throat again, not to choke but to hold you still, to force you to look at him.
"Tryna suffocate me, huh?" He asked, his breath hot against your face. "That what ya wanna try now?"
You shook your head, the tone of your voice only a desperate whisper. "No… I just… Look—"
The next thing you knew was that his mouth was on yours again.
This kiss was different. You could taste yourself on Daryl's lips, on his tongue—it was the taste of what he'd just done to you, and he was forcing you to share it. Moaning into his mouth, your hands, which had been in his hair only moments before, now clawed at his back, pulling him closer.
He kissed you like he was trying to win a fight all over again, his tongue moving against yours, stealing your breath and your sanity. All the while, his other hand—the one not holding your throat—was still busy.
It was almost embarrassing when you felt the fabric of your panties again, pressed against your pussy. Daryl broke the kiss, his forehead resting against yours, his breathing ragged.
"Gonna plug ya up," he whispered with a smirk. "Keep my cum inside ya where it belongs. 'Til we get back inside. Ain't gonna waste a drop."
Your eyes widened. "Daryl, you can't—"
His hand tightened on your throat, just a little, cutting off your response. "Can… 'M doin' it already."
And then he pushed.
The feeling of your panties was a strange pressure, not like his cock or his fingers. It was dry against your wetness, feeling so unnatural, but Daryl worked only a tiny part of it into you with two fingers, shoving the fabric not too deep but still stuffing you with your own underwear.
It felt wrong.
It felt insane.
It felt so fucking good, you thought you might come again from the sheer wrongness of it.
Daryl pushed until a small part of your panties was deep enough inside you, and he held his fingers there for a moment, feeling your pussy clench around it, watching your reaction closely.
"There," he smirked as he slowly pulled his fingers away, leaving the plug of fabric behind. "Now y'ain't leakin' all over the damn place. 'N yer gonna keep that in 'til we get back."
He finally released your throat, his hand coming down to move along your waist, almost tenderly if you ignored the fact that he'd just stuffed your pussy with your own panties.
Every tiny shift of your hips, every clench of your pussy, reminded you it was there. Reminded you of Daryl. His cum that he'd left behind.
Then he leaned down, his lips brushing your ear one last time.
"Shift's almost over," he whispered. "Get yer ass dressed."
That was all he said when he stood back up, adjusting himself once more, only to grab his crossbow in silence. And of course, a nasty little voice whispered in your head…
What did you expect? He got what he wanted. You were just a distraction from the boredom.
The Daryl who had just owned every inch of your body, who had whispered into your skin, and who came inside you earlier was gone. In his place was the grunting hunter, already turning his back to you. There was the quiet statue again, the brick wall.
The feeling of shame came back. Daryl had gotten what he wanted, and now he was done. You were just… Hershel Greene's middle daughter again. The one he'd fucked on a dirty blanket.
Swallowing the lump in your throat, you pushed yourself up as well. Your body felt used, sore in places you didn't know could be sore. But every movement sure was a reminder. The scrape of the blanket on your bare skin, the bite marks on your shoulder, and most of all, the strange pressure deep inside you. Your panties.
Moving quietly, with your legs buckling as you reached for your clothes, every step you took as you gathered your bra and shirt, as well as the discarded rifle, felt awkward. But pulling your pants on was the actual, and new, kind of torture. The fabric rubbed against the panties sticking out of you, creating a feeling that was anything but comfortable. It made you walk with a slight, awkward hitch in your step, making you squirm in a way you couldn't control, almost making you let go of the rifle.
Daryl heard you dressing up, but he didn't turn, though you saw the way his head tilted a bit, listening to your unsteady movements and fumbling with the weapon.
A while later, you both went down the watchtower in silence, and the second your boots hit the ground of the prison yard, he was moving, not waiting for you, his crossbow slung over his shoulder.
You followed, trying to walk normally, but the panties shifted now and then with the motion, a maddening friction that made it impossible to forget what he'd done. You still felt part of his cum, warm and trapped, the fabric holding it all in.
Suddenly, Daryl stopped. He must have heard the frustrated sigh you let out, but he didn't turn around and just stood there, waiting for you to catch up. When you were a step behind him, his hand shot back, not to grab yours, but to shove you forward a little.
It made you let out a cry of shock, with you jumping a foot in the air at the sudden contact.
"Quit squirmin'," he growled at your reaction and kept walking as if nothing had happened, leaving you standing there, with your pussy slightly pulsing around the fabric inside you.
Hurrying to get inside, to clean yourself up and to pretend nothing ever happened, you were quickly falling into step beside him this time, forcing your legs to move as normally as you could manage. Just as you reached the threshold of the main door to the C-Block, putting the rifle down, his hand shot out again. But this time, it wasn't him grabbing your arm. His fingers hooked into the back belt loop of your pants, yanking you to a stop just outside the circle of light from the inside of the prison. You stumbled back against his chest with another small, surprised gasp.
"Yer walkin' funny, Greene," he growled quietly into your ear. "Like ya got a damn stick up yer ass."
Your face turned red, and you didn't really know how to answer. "I told you, just go to hell!"
"And I—" He started, but you cut him off with a glare.
"I swear to God… If you say that 'you're already there,' I will—" You didn't even try to finish your sentence, shaking your head in annoyance.
Before you could react, Daryl's other hand came around your front, his hand moving down flat and low on your belly as he pulled you back against him. He held you there for one endless, heart-stopping second. And his hand moved. It was so fast, so casual, how he reached down and touched you between the legs, his palm pressing against the seam of your pants, right over your pussy.
Your eyes opened wide, looking around the empty yard, terrified someone might be watching anyway, somehow.
But Daryl just held his hand there, feeling the slight bulge of the fabric inside you.
"Still there… Still mine."
The words were simple, but they made you shiver.
Suddenly, his body shifted again. His hips pressed against your ass, grinding and pushing you against the cold door in front of you. He held you there, not caring if someone might come out, letting you feel his belt buckle just like he did in the watchtower, as well as the undeniable strength of him.
Letting you feel that he was, unmistakably, already hard again for you.
Then, as suddenly as he'd pinned you, he pulled back, one hand grabbing his crossbow while his other hand moved from your body to the handle of the door, pulling it open for you, like all the times he'd done it before.
Quickly taking the rifle back off the ground, you walked inside, your legs shaking and your face still burning. You didn't even dare look back at him anymore. But as you headed towards your cell, the strange, full feeling between your legs felt like a secret only the two of you shared, and you knew one thing for certain now...
Daryl Dixon was nowhere near done with you. And despite everything, a terrified but also excited part of you hoped he never would be.
cw: semi submissive daryl, slightly inaccurate daryl, cream pie, riding, virginity loss, slight age gap
description: y/n has a secret admirer and she tries to pinpoint who it might be but she can’t be so sure, however her admirer turns out to be the last person she could think of
twd, season two, hershels farm
warning!! I’m not good at writing fan fictions, especially smut so I apologize if this didn’t turn out good :c anyways I hope you enjoy !!
Y/N never expected to be on a farm, let alone in the middle of an apocalypse like this. Y/N managed to follow Rick’s group through Atlanta, the CDC, and now they were on Hershel’s farm, hoping to find Sophia and letting Carl heal from his accidental gunshot wound.
She tried not to let the new world she was living in stop her from being hygienic, in the best way she could be. Living in a tent outside of a farm house with a bunch of people wasn’t exactly the call for it. Y/N was the type where she could wear a sundress in the middle of a war zone if she could. However, this was the Georgia summer sun and muggy air so naturally it called for it.
Y/N was helping Lori with laundry in her sundress, her curves fitting it as she sat in a lawn chair. Cicadas buzzing in the background. She brushed her forehead, getting the hair out of her sweaty skin.“I hate this.”
Lori looked at her, nodding as she squeezed water out a shirt in her hands.“I hate it too…but while the men are looking for Sophia we might as well help tribute…my boys resting so this is the least I can do.”
Y/N nodded, Lori sometimes annoyed her, but she always had a way of explaining things to make it make sense. Maggie then came around, bringing a basket of peaches for everyone.“I just wanted to say thank you…I have to help daddy with some things…and go on a run with Glenn later…would you mind passing these out?” Maggie suggested, moving the basket in a semi circle between Carol, Andrea, Lori, and Y/N.
Y/N looked up, smiling softly as Maggie handed her the basket.“I got it.” She nodded, standing up and brushing herself off. She passed out the peaches throughout the camp, figuring she could give some to the boys later when they returned from searching for Sophia. She gave one to Dale, who looked her up and down.“Wouldn’t you want to change Y/N?” He suggested, coming off a little strong, but of course kind.
Y/N shook her head no, closing the basket as she brushed a piece of hair out of her face.“It’s very comfortable like this…the breeze is better…doesn’t feel very heavy.” Dale let out a hum of understanding.“Just be careful.” He yelled out as she walked away.“I will!!” She called out, waving her fingers.
Y/Ns walked to Daryl’s little camp sight he made for himself, he stayed behind today to do…whatever it is Daryl does these days. She felt the leaves and pines crunch under her shoes as she called out for him.“Hey Daryl~ I have some peaches for you…Maggie wanted me to give them to everyone.” Y/N approached him, her heart beat speeding up a bit as he locked eyes with her, but quickly turned back to fixing his bow.
Daryl scoffed with what sounded like a laugh. He could never figure Y/N out no matter how hard he tried. He never knew if her kindness was fake, or if she genuinely felt bad for him. He didn’t know…nor did he really care.“Wha is this a bed n breakfas now?” Daryl asked, his eyes looking at her quickly before paying attention to his bow.
Y/N let out a stifled chuckle, a grin on her lips as she sat the basket down next to him.“Don’t be rude Daryl…this was very nice of them to do.” Y/N said, her soft fingers opening the wicker basket.“Besides…can’t leave you out can we?”
“S’pose.” Daryl responded in a raspy voice, reaching in and taking a few, his eyes locking with Y/Ns again, before getting up to place them in his tent.“Tell em I said thanks…” he looked at her, playing with his hands nervously.
Y/N laughed, looking at her as she started walking away.“Are you sure…you're a grown man y'know Daryl? You could tell em” Which earned another scoff from him. Daryl shrugged.“Pfsh- Whatever- thanks…” he mumbled, placing his crossbow back on his lap as he sat back down. He watched her walk away, swallowing nervously as he finally felt like he could breathe. Daryl didn’t know why Y/N made him so nervous. Was it the way she looked? The way she dressed? How kind she was. He didn’t know. He’s never felt this way before, so naturally it made him confused. He can easily shut so many people out, but with Y/N? He honestly had butterflies. If Merle were here he’d definitely tell Daryl to stop being a pussy and just fuck her. Daryl had never had romantic feelings. Even a small interaction like that sent him over the edge. How could he do something like that to someone? Something he’d naturally protect? Hell he could never even strike up a conversation with her anyways if he tried…
~
Y/N woke up that next morning in her tent, her eyes blinking a few times before she sat up, stretching. She pulled back her covers, before she could place her feet on the tarp of the tent, her toe touched what felt like a wicker basket. She looked down, eyebrows furrowing, before her heart dropped to her stomach. There was a basket, a basket of…makeup? Things she liked? She reached down, her fingers brushing against the bottom as she picked it up.
In the basket was a strawberry scented lotion, a baby pink lip gloss, blush, and a strawberry scented perfume. What the fuck? She took each item out individually, admiring how pretty they were. Her heart was going a million miles per minute. This was stuff she would’ve used before…everything? She then spotted at the bottom a miniature bear with a pink bow around its neck. She felt her heart race. Whoever did this…didn’t do it as a kind gesture. This kind of stuff would’ve been left behind on a run anyways. So who would go through the trouble…just to get her something that was considered a luxury?
Y/N gently paced her tent, looking at the gifts. Was there someone at the camp who admired her? She thought of a handful of people. Rick? No he was too loyal to Lori. Shane? Maybe…but it would’ve been something less intimate and even if it was he’s not the type to give gifts, he’s more of the immediate action type. Glenn? No, too young, plus he had his finger wrapped around Maggie. T Dog? He was cute but there wasn’t really a connection there. All that she thought was left was maybe Andrea…but she didn’t have any feelings for her so no. All that left was Daryl or Dale. Definitely not Dale. So Daryl? Daryl did this? He couldn’t have…could he?
Y/N sat back down, her heart racing as she felt her entire face burn red. She hid her face behind her hands. Yes Daryl was cute and she had a crush on him, but she never thought he even likes girls…or had romantic feelings to give back anyways. Hannah was just assuming though, it couldn’t even be him. Plus, if it was, how would she even approach the idea of thanking him?
She decided she’d run an experiment tonight…obviously this was brought to her at night so maybe if she pretended to be asleep she could catch who it was? That’s even assuming they do it again and it will be at night. However it was worth at least trying. Y/N decided that’d be the best way…besides it would avoid any drama in the group. There’s already enough of that…
~
Y/N tried her best not to fall asleep, she stayed laying awake, looking at the ceiling of her tent, minutes feeling like hours. She tossed and turned, just waiting, and hoping. Maybe this was just a coincidence? Who knows. Was she overthinking?
Suddenly, she heard rustling outside of her tent, she turned in her makeshift cot and froze. It could've been a walker, however she would’ve heard it and Andreas was on watch. Y/N felt her heart race out of her chest, immediately shutting her eyes as she listened to whoever it was slowly unzip her tent.
~
Daryl was out of breath from the run he took. He managed to make it into town and sneak inside a store after dark. Thankfully there wasn’t a bunch but only a handful of walkers.“Goddamnit.” He muttered, holding the gifts close in the bag as he got back onto the farm. He felt like a creep. Sneaking into this woman’s tent just to give her gifts even though she would probably never feel the same way. Daryl kept telling himself how stupid he was, repeating it over and over in his head. He shook his head, running a hand through his hair as he approached her tent. He stood there for a second, wondering if he should even try. He started walking away, turning around before he sighed, walking back to Y/Ns tent. He put his crossbow on the ground, bending down to slowly unzip it.
When he stepped in, he nearly sighed out of relief, thank god she was asleep. He rustled the bag in his hands, his eyes landing on her as she slept. He swallowed, biting his lip as he fidgeted with the gifts. Daryl leaned down, placing down a soft blanket first, before placing flowers on top of it. Daryl stared at it, his mind racing with thoughts. Would this upset her? That’s what he thought the night before. He stood there for a second, expressionless before he turned to leave. He suddenly felt soft fingers grab his dirty, rugged wrist. Daryl nearly jumped out of his skin, turning back and seeing Y/N sitting up in her sleeping bag, holding Daryl’s wrist with a shocked but kind expression on her face.
~
Y/N didn’t know who to expect once they unzipped her tent. Whoever it was, however she felt, she just wanted to know. She heard them place some stuff down, feeling their presence for a moment before she heard them turn to walk away. Y/N quickly opened her eyes. Daryl ??? Daryl was doing this?? Somehow she knew but, it still made her heart race. She immediately sat up, reaching out to grab his wrist. Daryl’s face was a mix of shock and horror.“Shit-“ he mumbled, swallowing nervously.
Y/N sat up, holding his wrist gently, letting go of the pressure she had on it before. She looked down, seeing the pretty gifts Daryl left her. She picked them up.“N-No don’- don look at em.” He panicked, but Y/N shook her head. She held up the blanket, followed by the flowers.“Daryl the gifts are beautiful…”
Daryl spaced out for a moment, a deer in the headlights gaze. He shook his head.“No…no don’t-“ He looked down, avoiding her gaze.
Y/N looked up, her heart racing, Daryl looked so ashamed. She sat up on the sleeping bag, holding the flowers.“Daryl….i love it…” she held up the flowers.“you got those gifts for me?” She asked. Daryl nodded, looked down at all the gifts he got her perfectly aligned next to her sleeping bag.“I dunno why…I got the bear first…but I slowly kept goin back because I knew ya’d like it…I don’ know-“ he was afraid he might say the wrong thing or scare Y/N away.”fuckin stupid-“
Y/N leaned up, gently pressing a kiss to Daryl’s cheek. He hesitated and flinched, looking down and away from her as his heart raced. Y/N frowned, her heart breaking.”I love them daryl~ I really do…” she saw him nod.
Y/N reached out, brushing her finger slowly across his chin, making Daryl flinch at first but he sunk into the foreign feeling. He hesitated, but reached out to rest his hands on her hips. The two awkwardly held each other like that for a minute, Daryl didn’t know how to hold a woman, let alone intimately like this. Y/N stepped closer, moving her hands across his chest, feeling the fabric of his dirty clothes. Daryl bit his lip, his eyes softening as he looked into eyes.“Are you scared of me Daryl?” She brushed her hand up his neck
Daryl actually thought for a moment. He wasn’t scared of her, quite the opposite, nothing really scared him anymore. What he was scared of, however, was hurting her. Daryl shook his head, opening his mouth to say something, but quickly closing it.“N-No…jus…” he watched the way her hair moved with the gentle breeze from outside the tint.“Jus scared if I touch ya…I might hurt ya…yknow.”
Y/N slowly blinked, the realization of his fear coming to her. Daryl was naturally abrasive, volatile, defensive, and isolated himself from others. It was a survival instinct of course, and why wouldn't it be? Y/N didn't know much about Daryl's life previous to the fall of humanity but she could tell he had somewhat of a hard life. So the fact he was here and now being so vulnerable and putting himself in a vulnerable position showed he truly cared. Somewhere in that abrasive side is someone who just wants understanding and trust.
“You could never hurt me daryl~” Y/N shook her head, moving her thumb across his jaw back and forth, repeating the gentle motion”You do so much for this camp than you realise especially for Carol…” Y/N smiled warmly, tilting his head up so he could look at her.”Sure you're hot headed…” he let out a scoff at that."But that doesn't mean you're cruel, you're anything but that.” Y/N felt Daryl slowly move his hands around her back. She smiled, brushing the back of her fingers against his neck. Daryl let out a soft whimper, shaking and looking away.
Was Daryl Dixon sensitive?? The same rugged man that could track a deer for miles and get his hands dirty before anyone else…was sensitive to touch??
Y/N giggled softly, holding Daryl's hand as he tried to walk away and probably hide from everyone, especially her. She took Daryl's hand, holding it gently as her brought her knuckles back up to his neck.”Daryl~ are you sensitive…” she whispered, close to his ear. He shuttered, letting out a low, raspy moan as he moved her hand across his chest. He was so embarrassed, why did this woman make him weak? He moved his hand down the curve of her back, hiding his head in her shoulder.”Goddamnit” he whispered, taking a deep breath.
Y/N gasped softly, feeling his cock press hard against her leg and she nearly felt her stomach and heart drop at the same time.”fuck~’ she whispered, looking into his eyes. Daryl bit his lip, a flush against his cheeks. She barely touched him and she already felt his throbbing member against her thigh. Daryl shook his head.”s-sorry…i just…mm….m’sorry-” he kept trying to look at anything but her. However, Y/N quickly held his chin with her fingers, adjusting his face to focus on her.”poor baby…youre so shy and sensitive…” Daryl rolled his eyes back slightly, letting out a whimper.
Y/N smiled. She loved how submissive he was, she had barely done anything to him and he was already so overstimulated. She guided him to the sleeping bag, he straddled her, muscles shaking as she looked down at her. He cursed to himself.”fuck- mm-” he rested his forehead against hers, motioning his hips to press against hers. His cock was throbbing against his pants, just waiting to be freed. Y/N pouted, brushing her hands up his chest, his shoulder, before finally resting on his jaw. She leaned in, connecting their lips together. Daryl melted into the kiss, moaning against her lips. He had never been kissed before, ever. Her lips were soft and gentle. Daryl wasn't a good kisser, no, but she guided him anyway."Follow my lips~’ she whispered, moving her lips in a pattern Daryl could recognize. Y/N moved in that motion slowly, moaning against Daryl's lips."Good job~ there you go…” she giggled, slowly moving the tip of her tongue against his. The foreign feeling nearly made Daryl pass out. All the blood from his head was rushing straight to his cock.
Y/N pulled away, looking into Daryl's eyes as he looked down at her in disbelief. Hes never kissed a woman let alone been with one.”mm sorry..” he whispered, his voice raspy.”i don exactly know wha to do next…” he hid his face against her chest. Y/N pouted.”aww poor baby.” she whispered, moving her hand down to his pants, palming the bulge of his hard, throbbing cock. Daryl moaned, digging his hands into her sides, hiding his face in her shoulder.”why dont i make you feel good then?” she whispered.
Y/N repositioned her and Daryl so that she was on top. Her panties pressing against his throbbing clothed cock. Daryl instinctively moved his hands to her ass, squeezing the soft flesh. It was so squishy and warm. He moaned, gently thrusting his hips up, dry humping her gentle pussy.”Y/N…please…i cant…i need~” he begged, spreading her cheek as he squeezed her ass.
Daryl whimpered, he's never felt this way in his whole life. Obviously he's master bated before, looked at women's magazines that Merle had laying around, and heard Merle having sex. But he's never been with a woman like this. Let alone a woman like Y/N.
Y/N hummed, moving to unzip Daryl's pants, with his help he undid his belt, pulling them down along with his boxers. His hard cock kissed the cool air, bouncing against his stomach. He wasn't big, but he necessarily wasn't small either. Daryl was veiny and girthy in size, and average in length. The head of his dick gently leaked precum, it dripped down, tracing the throbbing veins. He whimpered softly, he was so painfully hard he couldn't bare it anymore.”Y/N…please…fore i explode.” he put his arm over his mouth, moaning raspily into it.
Y/N cursed gentle at the size”fuck daryl~’ she gently pushed down her panties, a trail of wetness that was stuck to the silk fabric of her panties broke as she pulled them down. She lifted her shirt over her head, followed by her bra. Her soft breasts laid beautifully on her chest. Daryl cursed, moving her hands up to gently feel, his cock twitching as he squeezed the soft mounds.Y/N moaned, biting her lips.”That feels so good~” she couldn't remember the last time she had someone be so gentle yet so rough with her breasts.
“Yer so beautiful.” Daryl said in a low, raspy voice. His gaze was so loving yet lustful at the same time. Y/N smiled softly, leaning forward to kiss his lips, using her hand to gently trace his cock against the wet lips of her pussy. She coated the tip in her wetness, before her hand stroked his cock, coating the member in a mixture of his precum and her slick. She slowly placed the tip against her entrance, slowly sinking into the tightness of her walls. Y/N moaned with Daryl as she sank down, taking the rest of his cock into her gentle wetness.”F-Fuck~’ Daryl moaned, squeezing her ass once more, this time harder as they both adjusted to this foreign feeling. Daryl couldn't believe his first time would feel so good. He tried everything to stop himself from coming, the feeling was so good.
“D-Daryl…its throbbing so good inside of me~’ Y/N moaned, gripping his chest. Her blood was so warm from the feeling of the tip of his cock already pressing against her sweet spot. She lifted her hips, bouncing them back down slowly. Daryl moaned, throwing his head back. This was the perfect position for their first time, riding made it so they could both feel god. Y/N moved her hips up and down slowly, bouncing on his cock and moving back and forth. She connected their lips together, moaning into Daryl's mouth. She continued this moan, shaking as the tip of his cock penetrated her womb. She bounced faster, feeling Daryl grip her hips. His confidence grew with each thrust.
Y/N gently sat up, giving Daryl a view of the rest of her body as she rode him. She bounced faster, her pussy clenching around him as she gripped her own breasts. Daryl's eyes wandered across her beautiful body, he couldn't believe this was happening. The way she felt, the way she moved against him, the way his cock disappeared into her pussy. It was all too overwhelming for his first time but it felt so good.”f-fuck Y/N…fuck im gon…im gon cum-” he moaned, thrusting his hips inside of her. She moaned louder, gripping his chest as she moved her hips with the motion of his cock.”fuck~ oh my god!!’ she moaned.
Daryl thrusted his hips up, moaning as an orgasm roared through his body, nearly making him pass out as he chased his orgasm inside of Y/N. He came deep inside of her, spilling every bit that was pent up inside of his thick, throbbing cock. He continued thrusting his hips as Y/N orgasmed, his hands rubbed her stomach and thighs, encouraging her as he watched a mix of slick and cum build at the base of his cock. Daryl gripped her hips, thrusting up one last time before she moaned loudly from her orgasm. Not even trying to be quiet anymore at this point.
Y/N collapsed on top of Daryl's chest, taking a deep breath as she came down from her high. Daryl brushed her hair, shaking as he tried to come down from his equally overwhelming high from his first time. Y/N managed to lean up, kissing his lips as he gently pulled out. He moved his lips with her holding her close. They pulled away, trying to cool down the from heated encounter. Y/N kissed his jaw and he gave her a soft smile. Which was rare.
Y/N let out a soft giggle.”i loved the gifts ~” she traced his cheek with the back of her knuckles."Promise me you'll keep bringing them?” she looked into his eyes, blinking slowly.
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cw: pervy!daryl, masturbation, implied age gap, kinda angsty, probs rly out of character (made him a gooner, i'm sorry), shitty writing, idk what else
summary: he's secretly obsessed with you, but he doesn’t think you’d care for a mean old dog like him. so he copes the only way he knows how. by fisting himself and making a mess of the shower floors every night.
daryl dixon never claimed to be a good man.
that’s what he told himself. hoped it would relieve him of the blame, bear the brunt of the guilt that came every time he left the quiet of the showers. sometimes it worked. it made him feel better to know that he could at least be honest with himself. to not have to pretend to be better than he was. it made it easier to think about you in all the ways he knew he shouldn’t.
a better man would never think to look at you the way he did, but he’s not a better man, is he?
the communal bathroom was the place that best allowed him to weave his fantasies in peace, funnily enough. ever since the group had taken in the folks from woodbury, the prison had been loud and constantly crowded. up in the cellblocks and out in the yard, all anyone ever did was pester him, fawning and calling him a hero no matter how many times he’d snarl at them.
they all liked him when there were others around, when there was a leash nearby, just in case he snapped his jaws too tight. but the truth of it was, he’s a mean old dog who’s trained to bite. and when no one else was around, they were all scared of him.
so, naturally, there came an unspoken understanding:
if daryl’s alone in a room, stay the fuck out unless you want to be missing fingers.
the first time it happened, it had only been a matter of convenience.
you were one of the people coming in from woodsbury, fleeing the terror that had been the governor. among the mass, you were one of the few who actually worked to earn their place. the others were useless. he’d be the one to admit it. bunch of dickless wimps who didn’t know how to get their hands dirty. spent too much time playing house in that sad mind-fuck of a town.
not you though. no, you were different. that was the first thing he noticed about you. never afraid to step up to the task. to deal with the things they did on the regular without bitching about it like everyone else.
it was rick’s idea to give all the newcomers the harder jobs, just to see where the weak spots were. pick out the less-capable ones and give them the other mindless tasks like laundry or cooking.
you were one of the ones to prove yourself capable, taking down nearly the whole crowd of walkers that had amassed outside the fence all on your own. he watched you work that day. stripped down to your thin little tank top that clung just too tight to your body, your skin gleaming in the hot georgia sun, sweat and blood making you shine if he looked at you just right.
you walked up to him when you were done, disgusting and glistening and covered in guts. you had the gall to ask in that sweet, soft voice of yours if you ‘did alright,’ like there weren’t twenty walker corpses lying thirty feet away.
he scoffed then, but later that night he was fucking his hand raw, spilling all over his fingers and watching it drip onto the tile floor.
he had wanted so badly to lay you down right there and fuck you into the grass. didn’t matter you were lathered in gore – he would’ve licked that up too, dragging his tongue over your slick skin if it meant even the smallest chance of getting at your cunt.
he was glad to have been alone in the showers. he knew it must have been a pathetic sight – daryl dixon, grouchiest bastard you’ll ever meet, rutting into his fist and whining over a young thing like you who’d never give him the time of day.
the second time it happened, he called it a coincidence. just a spur of the moment thing that just so happened to end with him panting up against the wall with cum splattered up his chest.
he knew he was filthy for thinking of you like this. nothing you did was even remotely sexual. but that day, having you slide up behind him on his bike to join him on a supply run, your tits pressed against his back and your thighs spread wide on either side of him, your arms stretching around his torso, clasped hands inching further and further down with every bump in the road – it was all too much.
he gave up trying to excuse it the third time. it had become an addiction – no, a necessity. a new form of sustenance that kept him breathing. kept his brain working and the blood flowing through his veins.
the group didn’t think they’d ever seen him so clean. and when he wasn’t able to get to the showers at night? boy, was everyone sorry.
the day before, you had been on kitchen duty, making some sort of soupy concoction out of some canned goop and chopped bits of rabbit daryl had caught earlier that morning. it was around noon when he went to find you, hoping to grab a quick bite and then go back to ignoring you. but no, things weren’t so simple with you.
if the soft smile you gave him wasn’t enough to make him chub up in his jeans right where he stood, then your asking if he ‘wanted a taste’ was. his face went embarrassingly hot and his cock kicked against his thigh. and you had no idea.
he didn’t want to be mean to you, not when you’d been working so hard for the community. there was also this small part of him, some kind of cancerous tumor, buried deep in the sickest part of him, that hoped you shared in his perversion. that you were thinking the same thing — that you actually wanted this gross old man to hook your knee over his shoulder and shove his tongue up your cunt until you were squirming against his face.
instead, you spun your wooden spoon around and lifted it in front of him. and fuck, of that wasn’t just as good. he watched your eyes linger on his lips as they parted, on the way his tongue dipped out into the tangy soup before slipping back into the wet of his mouth.
he liked to imagine you got just as wet as he did doing that. that the precum that leaked and stained in his boxers wasn’t all for nothing.
he knew right then and there, with your eyes turned down and your hand tentatively lowering the spoon back to the pot, what his plans for the night were going to be.
that was, until rick made him tag along for some thing that stretched on far too late. it became apparent how much of a problem you had turned into for him when he spent the entire next day unreasonably pissed off, snapping at the smallest of things.
even you weren’t safe from his frustration. in fact, you seemed to be the target of it. everything you did only served to further ruin his mood. you were unavoidable, seeming to linger everywhere he went — serving him breakfast when he woke up, smiling at him from across the yard, bouncing judith behind rick when he called for him. no matter where he went, you always managed to find your way there.
he made the stupid decision to go out hunting while hotheaded. he figured it was someplace you wouldn’t follow him to. one of the few places he could go to get away from the itching greed that crawled over his skin whenever his eyes found yours.
he’d almost made it too, fixing himself on the seat of his bike and knocking back the kickstand, settling in front of the rattling gate as it peeled open. his fingers were just about to wrap around the handles when he heard your clattering footsteps rush up behind him.
“wait! you forgot this,” you panted, holding out his waterskin for him.
he stared wordlessly before snatching it out of your hand. he ignored the way your brows twitched together, hurt lacing your face. he was anxious to just get away from you before you saw the thick print pressing at his thigh (or how it jumped when your fingers brushed his).
he revved his engine finally and started off down the road. he heard your voice cut through the air again.
“stay safe!”
goddamn it. you fucked with his head. he was leaving to get away from you so you wouldn’t fuck with his head, and you did it anyway.
it was because of you all he could think about was the throbbing in his cock. it was because of you he could only focus on the rumble of his bike sending vibrations ghosting at his leaking tip with every dip in the road. it was because of you he nearly drove into a lone walker in the middle of the street.
he swerved at the last second and immediately went tumbling across the asphalt, bike skidding past him by an inch. he laid there dazed until that same walker came snarling up to him.
his arms were shredded and there was a gash dripping blood on his chin, but otherwise, he felt fine. he was inspecting his bike for damage when he realized in horror that today was your day in the infirmary. the blood had been shaken up to his head when he crashed, but now, he could feel it all flooding back down at the prospect of you getting your hands on him.
it was embarrassing how wide your eyes got when you saw him roll his bike back through the gate. he must of looked worse than he thought.
he grumbled and pushed past you. the sting of his arms didn’t bother him, and he hardly paid any attention to the wound still trickling down his neck. he just needed to get himself sorted out. clear his head. get down to the showers and fuck whatever had pent up inside him in the last day and a half out into his fist.
it was empty when he stormed in, his footsteps echoing through the air as he passed along the grimy tile. he tore at his clothes, letting them fall to the floor and trail behind him. his belt, his vest, his shirt.
his skin was broiling, his cheeks flushed as he tugged down his pants just enough to tug his cock out. he hissed when he took it in his palm, heavy and angry red, weeping an embarrassing amount of precum that smeared on his knuckles.
a small voice in the back of his head berated him for how disgusting he was, how much of a old, perverted creep he had to be to be this desperate jerking off to a sweet girl like you.
you, who had no idea what kind of sick degenerate he was. the things he made you do in the haze of his lust-filled fantasies when he was all alone. he knew he was wrong for it, but he couldn’t help himself. something possessed him whenever you crossed his mind, making his cock throb so painfully, he had no choice but to give in.
his hand curled around the thick base of him, his grip tight and unforgiving. he didn’t even need to spit with how much slick drooled over his fingers. he shuddered when he squeezed, pleasure shooting up his spine.
you weren’t spoiled like him. rotten and filthy. mangey and ridden with fleas. he could imagine all he wanted, but you would never be there in front of him, naked and kneeling with your tongue out, your face painted in cum. you would never look up at him with those wet, teary eyes as you pressed your nose to his pubes, your throat convulsing around his length, sucking him in as he pulsed into the wet heat of your mouth.
no, you were soft. nice and perfect. you probably liked the gentler things — lazy mornings waking up to a head between your thighs and a tongue suckling at your clit, warm embraces and forehead kisses, making love — and he could be gentle. he could be soft for you, but it wouldn’t matter. it would never matter, because his hands were rough and dirty and stained with all the things he had done in his life, and there was no washing it away.
a fist rose to his mouth to stifle the whine that slipped past his lips. he could feel it writhing in the pit of his stomach, the jittery release he’d been missing for far too long. it ached in his chest and shuddered over his skin.
his hand pulled fervently, faster now that he could see it over the horizon, feel it creeping up on him like someone’s breath on the back of his neck. his thumb rubbed over his slit, slipping over the drippy mess that was starting to spatter over the floor.
he wished it were you there with him, wished it was your hand gliding along his cock — it would probably feel nicer; your hands were soft, just like the rest of you — instead of his. he grunted out your name, imagining how smooth your fingers would feel wrapped around him. his brain was buzzing, his ears hot and ringing, and his breath had started coming in heavy pants as he worked his fist harder and harder.
you supposed that’s how he missed you shuffling down the stairs, padding into the room. your lips parted in surprise at the whiny sound of your name dripping from his tongue, at the broad expanse of his back to you, and the unmistakable schlick of his hand tugging at his cock.
you stood there silently behind him, your hands with the gauze and hydrogen peroxide you’d brought down falling limp at your sides. heat rushed up to your cheeks, dousing over your head and making gooseflesh prickle at your skin.
the right thing to do was to turn around and leave, give him his privacy, but you felt frozen in place watching him fall apart, chanting your name.
his whines were growing louder, high-pitched and breathy, his hips stuttering and chasing after the warm clutch of his palm as he threw himself into his release. it slithered down his spine, his shoulders curling in as it tore through him.
you watched him shudder against the wall, his face pressed into his forearm while his other hand moved gently along his length. he shivered, moaning softly as he came, his cock twitching and drooling out ropes of cum that splattered on the grimy tile. you watched it drip down, streaking its way to pool on the floor.
he panted, ribs splaying wide like wings, as he came down from his high. there was a sweaty sheen on his back that made your eyes linger — probably a bit too long, because he was shifting and turning around before you could think to dart away.
his head still felt clouded, his eyes hazy, but he knew there was no mistaking the image of you standing there watching him. he froze, shame already blooming in the depths of his gut and curling around his throat.
your eyes were wide, wet and gleaming, just like he fantasized about every night. his stomach flipped at the realization that he was right, that the only way you would ever look at him was in shock and disgust — but then, he watched your gaze drop.
a twitchy, shy, little glance was all it was, but he’d caught it. that curious sheen glazing over your pupils, fixating on his cock that you could only now properly see. he watched your fist crush around the roll of gauze in your hand when it twitched under your attention.
the vitriol that usually simmered and pooled on his tongue dripped down the back of his throat. his lips that had long since grown accustomed to curling away to bear his teeth now, suddenly, stayed smooth against his face.
he only swallowed and blinked at you, standing still and quiet in the stuffy air of the showers as a strange, forbidden twinge of something twisted through him — something he’d never let himself feel before. hope.
⤷ dumbass ending. it’s my literal first ever time writing something and actually posting it… happy kinktober tho :p
JONGHO KINK LISTTTTTT angry sex better be number 1 because that last drabble had me 🥵🥵🥵
alright YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT ISSSSSSSSSSSS it’s JONGHO time
okay okay okay i swear i can be totally calm and collected about this i swear i can it’s fine *serious writer hat on*
definite kinks
angry sex - can this be considered a kink? yes? no? maybe? we’re going with yes today bc yes. jongho would be so into angry sex, he would love to fuck it out of his system and just fuck you senseless tbh check out my angry sex jongho blurb here (shameless plug) bc that’s that on my thoughts sorry not sorry NEXT
strength/power kink - baby boy jongho is strong, there’s no doubt about that. he wants to flaunt it too. he wants to show off how strong he is, especially during sex, whether it be the strength of his thrusts or what position he puts you in. he will want the power during sex. mans is a dom, and that’s that.
finger sucking (giving) - going along with the power kink, jongho would love to have his fingers in your mouth. especially if he just fucked your mouth and came on your lips, he would love to fuck it back into your mouth with his fingers for sure that would really get him going i think
maybe kinks
titty fucking (lol i hate typing this im so sorry) - jongho i think likes boobs a lot so he would love to fuck your boobs for sure or maybe just leave hickeys all over your boobs idek i think he has a boob fixation so he would love to do anything related to them
marking (giving) - i think he would love marking you anywhere and everywhere really but mostly on your chest or inner thighs. a show of dominance really, but he wants to show that you are his and his only
definitely not
public sex/exhibitionism - i think jongho would consider sex a very private and intimate thing and he would never want to put either of you in a position where you might be caught or seen. he wants it to be something special between the two of you and the two of you alone. that’s all.
» c.jongho x fem!reader
» 18+ dni if minor
» language, explicit smut, semi-public sex, piv, unprotected sex, manhandling, strength kink, oral sex: f receiving, manual stimulation, vaginal fingering, multiple orgasms, soft sex, alcohol mention, creampie
» wc 2.4k
» link to masterlist
“the weather is really nice this morning,” you say through a sip of coffee, glancing over your shoulder as jongho steps out to join you on the balcony. “you’re up early.”
“as are you,” he sighs back. your gaze drags over his form as he comes into view, noting the simple white tee over grey sweatpants that he went to bed in last night. he must have just rolled out of bed and come straight here given how mussed his hair still looks. you watch over the lip of your mug as he steps closer to the railing, elbows coming to a rest on the flat bit. the city isn’t busy at this hour; at least not in terms of pedestrians and such. the cars are still going every which way without relent, but that’s not very interesting to watch anyway. the beach just beyond the road is the main view you chose this condo for, and the whole reason you’re out this early. the waves look prettiest as the sun is coming up over them.
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pairing: daryl dixon x gn!reader
word count: 2.7k
summary: after slipping into daryl's bed during a horrible storm, he accidentally touches your butt in his sleep...but does wanting him to put it back make you a bad friend?
warnings: swearing, brief inappropriate touching, suggestive physical contact, daryl gets hard...twice...
a/n: this was supposed to be under 1k words but fuck me ig. inspo from this post <3
The sound of thunder booms across the prison yard, echoing off the concrete walls. Wind whips past the barred windows, infiltrating your ears with a deafening sound. Any chance to catch some sleep was long gone. The noise alone was terrifying, but then your mind was practically spinning at the mere thought of the barbed wire fences getting knocked to the ground. Fearful that walkers might infiltrate the cell block due to a reckless storm only causes your heart rate to increase.
A few minutes pass as you contemplate a plan of action. Rain splatters hard against the roof and somehow grows louder. Another violent crack in the sky makes you sit straight up. Within seconds, your chest feels tight with the type of pain that only comes from being overly panicked. Uneven breaths escape your lips as your thoughts focus on the only person who can calm you down; Daryl.
The moment your feet hit the cold floor, they’re carrying you in the direction of his cell. The door is shut for the night, but you ignore his silent warning sign that tells everyone else to fuck off. Daryl can be stubborn, abrasive even, but despite his unyielding attitude, there was an apparent soft spot for you. It was safe to say that there was some weird friendship brewing between you both. His occasional slips of empathy eventually built trust over time. Enough so that you’re positive he won’t mind this little midnight visit. Or so you tell yourself, anyway.
When Daryl stirs, your figure is hovering over him ever so innocently. Even in the dark room the man drinks in the sight of your beautiful eyes and long lashes. He almost mistakes you for an angel, under the influence he was dreaming this entire scenario. But the loudness of the storm brings him back to reality.
Then he’s wondering why the hell you’re in his cell in the first place.
“Fuck’s sake- wha’ the hell ya’ want?” Daryl mumbles angrily. The sound of his sleepy voice shoots a tingle down your spine; he sounded oddly cute despite being so pissed off.
“Can I lay with you?” you ask with a slight tremble. The shake in your tone was noticeable, making the man’s skin jump for a split second. He feared maybe you were hurt or worse, causing the protectiveness that has always settled deep within him to come alive.
“Why?” he rushes to ask, tilting his head to the side as he abruptly sits up. It seemed whatever had been bothering you captured his attention, tugging at the man like it was now his duty to come to your aid.
“I’m scared of the storm.”
Daryl rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, scoffing under his breath. He’s not even surprised you’re in his personal space for such a trivial reason. But somewhere between seeing you stand in front of him in that loose tank top and listening to those pathetic pleas, the man feels a rush of blood in between his legs. He hopes you can’t see the sudden bulge growing beneath his pajama pants.
Subconsciously, you brush loose strands of hair away from your face right as a flash of lightning clashes above the prison. He studies you for a moment, carefully considering the situation. He’s already very awake at this point, and so are you. The man knew damn well there was no way you’d fall back asleep by yourself. He exhales slowly as the thunder continues to reverberate forcefully outside.
Daryl caves in much sooner than he likes to admit. Maybe, deep down, he figures life is too short to push away this offer. To share the same bed with the only survivor at this camp who makes him double-take each time they cross paths…well, it was too good to be true.
He mumbles incoherent words under his breath and pushes himself to the side, pulling back just enough of the sheets to expose the now empty side of his mattress. He had never done this with you before, so he pretends that trying to find a comfortable position is of more importance than watching you crawl into his bed.
Daryl shifts restlessly before leaning back, slipping his hand behind his head as the pillow dips beneath him. Meanwhile, you try your best to ignore the flush on your face as you tuck your legs underneath the warm blanket and roll onto your stomach; your preferred sleeping position. You’re lucky the man happened to have another pillow with him. He shoves it in your direction half-assed. You murmur a small, “Thank you.”
Staying true to his typical, quiet behavior, Daryl only grunts in response.
A streak of lightning illuminates the room, then another shortly after. Daryl turns his head in the opposite direction of your own. Left to put your focus on something else, you decide to stare absentmindedly at the cell door instead. Watching and listening to the storm seemed to be an easier feat when there was a warm, sturdy body near you. Not just anyone, but Dixon himself.
Somehow, even in the midst of the chaos outside, you could just barely hear the way his breathing eventually steadied and softened into a rhythm that left you feeling…safe, protected. The atmosphere in the room isn’t quite comfortable, but it isn’t hostile either. You’re hyperaware of every little detail. Daryl’s scent is the most notable; it's intoxicating, deep in the woven threads of his blanket that it seems to completely surround you. The warmth of his body feels so natural despite neither of you ever being in this position before. Yet, you wouldn’t have asked for a better person to be with during such a scary night.
Time seems to move in slow motion for the next couple hours. Eventually, the torrential downpour let up only a bit. Thunder was rolling further in the distance, but remained loud and obnoxious. You hadn’t moved more than an inch at most from your spot on the shared bed. All that had changed was the way you eventually pushed the blanket down your legs due to the suddenly hot space. You blame Daryl for the way his body acts like a damn heater.
Still on your stomach, your eyes flutter shut. Flickers of day dreams cross your mind; images that weren’t quite real but didn’t feel like they were part of a made-up world either. However, even exhaustion couldn’t get you to ignore what comes next.
In the dark, something brushes against your bottom. A moment later, it rests there.
Whatever made contact with your body was warm, large, and has five digits that dig into the exposed skin under your shorts.
It only takes a few seconds to realize it’s Daryl’s hand.
Heat blooms up your neck. The rest of his body is completely still, resembling your own current physical state. Daryl inhales gently and lightly smacks his lips, mumbling a vague word in his deep sleep. The touch must be accidental, considering his breathing remains slow and steady, but your stomach pools with warmth at the touch. Whatever oxygen had been previously left in your lungs was stolen from you.
You can’t help but wonder…is this intentional? Did he know what he was doing in the first place? As you ask yourself these questions in your head, Daryl’s fingers settle further down the curve of your backside, practically slipping into the little crease of fat that comes between your bottom and the backs of your thighs.
A strangled gasp emits from your lips at the touch. Without much of a second thought, you ask aloud, “Daryl?”
The man next to you doesn’t seem to hear the call of his own name. All you get is silence in return. You repeat yourself as a rather feeble attempt to see if he’s truly asleep. “Uh, Daryl? You awake?”
Your eyes widen at the feeling of Daryl finally shifting in his sleep. His fingers squeeze you briefly before releasing again. The sheets rustle as the man stretches his legs, letting out a rather long, loud exhale. He whispers back, “Wha’?”
Your heart falls into your stomach. Shit, so he’s awake, now what do you say?
The question comes out before you have time to process it.
“Are you…touching my butt on purpose?”
You’re not sure you’ve ever seen the skilled hunter react so quickly before. Daryl immediately pulls his hand back as though he had been setting it on a hot frying pan this whole time instead. You can practically feel the embarrassment radiate off him. He sucks in a sharp breath and coughs afterwards. Out of shame, the man abruptly turns onto his side. The way he reacts makes you flinch. Briefly, you regret bringing it up in the first place…mostly because you actually miss the feeling, which comes as a shock more than anything else.
“Fuck, shit, ‘m sorry.” he mumbles, shoving his face into his own pillow hastily.
You take this chance to lift your upper half, resting your weight on your elbows to get a better look at him. The dark room doesn’t help the situation at all. You can barely see him, and it appears he’d rather keep it that way. His broad shoulders are all you can make out as he softly groans to himself.
Not that you can see, but Daryl’s freaking out. So much so, that he can't stop clenching his jaw. There’s nothing else he can do now but dig his own damn grave. The man fears he may have stopped breathing for a couple seconds at one point. God, now he feels like a piece of shit. He wonders, why are you still here? Why haven’t you left already?
Daryl Dixon can handle the end of the world like it's nothing. But this right here? God, he thinks he might actually have to run away from the prison tomorrow morning. Just up and leave so he doesn’t have to catch sight of your pretty face staring at him like he’s a freak from this moment forward. He’s already cataloging everything he needs to pack on his bike. The supplies, what necessary clothes he might need, where he’s hidden his extra knives.
Goddamnit, his stomach churns at the thought of leaving you behind. But he feels like he genuinely has to now.
Because, he wonders to himself, how do you fuck up that badly the first time you share the bed with someone? Not just someone, but you of all people.
Daryl’s complete stillness is torture. There’s still a heavy patter of rain outside, but no big storm could mask the awkwardness between you and your friend in this tight cell. You lick your bottom lip, pulling it in between your teeth. Heavy silence fills the void for many long, agonizing seconds. The tension is so thick, someone could cut it with a knife. The way Daryl shields himself…you hate it. Not once has he ever displayed this type of behavior specifically towards you before. And you’ll be damned if you let it continue.
“Daryl, it’s not that big of a deal.” you tell him, trying to keep your voice steady. The reassurance falls short, however.
“Fuck off.” he spits back. The venom in his words stings like a burn, but you choose to ignore it. You understand why he’s so upset. Had you been in his position, maybe you would have done the same.
Rolling your eyes, you scoff. “Daryl, I didn’t…I-I didn’t mind you doing that. Really.”
He stops breathing.
Anticipation builds in Daryl’s chest. It coils so tight, he swears he might snap in two. The possibility of touching you in that way again, it feels wrong…yet so right. His fingers clutch the bundle of sheets that rested in front of his chest.
Daryl finally turns onto his back once more, head lulling to the side of his pillow to get a better view of your beauty. Some of his loose hair falls forward and shadows his dark eyes.
“Fuck you just say to me?” he snaps, but there’s less agitation in his voice now. If you didn’t know any better, he sounds genuinely curious.
It’s not the exhaustion talking when you go to respond to Daryl. “I said I don’t mind. It wasn’t weird to me.”
“Then why did you-”
“Oh my gosh, Daryl just fucking put it back already.”
Both you and Daryl stare at one another, your pulses throbbing loudly. Your request hangs heavy in the air, so long that you’re scared that maybe you just made a fool of yourself in the end.
In reality, Daryl is speechless because he hasn’t heard anyone talk to him so directly about such an intimate topic. He doesn’t face trials such as this one very often, if at all. In a world as broken as this one, he’s meant to hunt, protect, and survive. His mind is constantly in fight mode. So when the voices in his head whisper to pull you in, to hold your body close to his own and never let go, his breath hitches slightly.
Daryl didn’t think he was deserving of this sort of treatment. He was as shattered as the rest of earth currently was. He wondered, what did he do to deserve you?
You sigh and tear your line of sight away from the man and turn towards the door instead, plopping back down on your stomach. It’s a poor attempt to hide your red face. You couldn’t stand the idea of letting him stare at you any longer, especially considering how vulnerable you felt.
You shut your eyes to try and escape the situation you put yourself in. Regret courses through your veins. Had you just stayed in your own cell, this would have never happened in the first place. After what feels like ages pass, you hear the body next to you stir slightly. All that you can hear at first is the creak of springs in the mattress under his weight. Then, his body slowly gravitates closer to your own. Your temporary heater was up against you once more, making it hard not to smile at the proximity.
Something restless disturbs the man all the way down to his core. Something so strong that he can’t believe what he does next.
Daryl’s hand comes back to your bottom. The contact causes an explosion of butterflies to erupt in your stomach. He doesn’t squeeze your delicate flesh, nor does he travel further down the seam of your shorts, but he keeps it held in one spot like he didn’t plan on letting go. A slow smirk curves your mouth, and you realize it’s difficult to hold back any sort of reaction. You feel your lips part in a near quiet, involuntary exhale.
He could tell you were content now, and for that he’s not quite sure what the hell this means between the two of you down the line. All because of his hand, there’s an obvious shift in the atmosphere now. Something neither of you can ignore.
“Fuckin’ weirdo.” he murmurs under his breath, pleased at the sound you had released a few moments ago. Daryl can’t help but tease you. It’s his form of retribution. You're the reason why his pants are constricting right now. While holding one of the most intimate parts of your body, Daryl can’t help but let his mind wander a bit, and it’s entirely your fault, of course.
“Shut up.” you hiss back at him, but Daryl can hear the smile in your voice. Before closing his eyes for the rest of the night, his gaze travels down once more. He takes a glance at your frame under the palm of his hand and gulps.
“Whatever.” he says flatly.
You try to contain the faint giggle that hiccups from the back of your throat, but you fail miserably. It makes Daryl’s heart skip a beat at the sound.
Somehow, later that night, the two of you slip into an unexpected position. Still asleep, Daryl had turned onto his side again, this time his other arm coming to wrap itself around your waist. Knocked out cold from the eventual exhaustion, you mirrored the man's position and pulled yourself up to your side, falling flush against his warm chest.
Both of you slept heavier than you had in months. Only when the sun finally rose and the rainclouds dispersed did the two of you finally awake and quietly acknowledge the change in your relationship. It didn’t require a label, but both of you realize that this isn’t something close friends do.
But you’d rather die to a walker bite than have to go another night without Daryl Dixon’s warm hands.
Request: “How would Daryl react once he finds out that reader has tattoos? maybe like some back tattoos like he does? :‘D”
requested by anonymous
Word count: 851
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Gender Neutral! Reader
Warnings: usual twd themes, cursing (probably), lots of fluff, insecurities, reader loses a shirt but there’s nothing sexual about it, reader has scars and tattoos on their back
A/n: Can’t believe that all it took to finish writing this was a glass of Georgian wine. Bless the anon who requested this 🙏 We deserve love, Daryl deserves love; we’re all winners here. There’s nothing specified about RC’s tattoos and scars, imagine them however you like!
☁ 𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ☁ || ☁ 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐋 𝐃𝐈𝐗𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ☁
The archer’s fingers traced your back like an imaginary constellation, following the protruding scars marking your skin. His cold hands made goosebumps wash over your whole body. Daryl noticed it and stopped his movements, taking a look at your facial expression to make sure his actions didn’t make you uncomfortable in any way.
tags: canonverse / gentle levi / levi caring in his own way / established relationship / domestic fluff / sfw / 489 w.
summary: you accidentally break levi’s favorite teacup, you brace for the worst but instead of anger, he offers quiet care and a subtle gesture that shows just how much you matter to him.
you don’t mean to break it.
one second you’re reaching for the broom near levi’s desk and the next, his favorite teacup slips off the shelf and shatters against the floor.
the sound is sharp, echoing in the silence of his office.
for a moment, you just stare at the pieces, heart hammering in your chest.
his teacup.
the one he’s had for years, the one no one else dares to touch.
you drop to your knees, trying to gather the shards before anyone sees, before he sees.
“what are you doing?”
you freeze. his voice is calm, but that only makes it worse.
you turn around slowly. he’s standing in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes flicking from you to the mess on the floor.
“i—it slipped,” you stammer. “i’m so sorry, levi. i’ll get you another one, i promise.”
he doesn’t respond right away. he just walks over, crouches beside you, and starts picking up the larger pieces with practiced care.
“you’ll cut yourself,” he murmurs, voice quieter now. “move.”
you sit back on your heels, hands twisting in your lap. your throat feels tight, and you can’t tell if it’s guilt or fear.
“i really didn’t mean to,” you say softly. “i know it was your favorite. i just… i’m sorry.”
he sets the last piece on the desk, dusts off his hands, and finally looks at you.
for a second, you think you see something shift in his expression, a flicker of fondness beneath the flat calm.
“you think i care that much about a cup?” he asks.
“you do,” you mumble. “you’ve used it every day since like forever.”
he huffs, a sound halfway between annoyance and a laugh. “tch. you’re ridiculous.”
you blink up at him, unsure if he’s joking. “so… you’re not mad?”
he sighs, shaking his head. “no. you’re lucky i love you.”
your heart stumbles at the words, simple, gruff, almost thrown away, but unmistakably real.
you try to bite back a smile, looking down to hide the warmth spreading across your face. “you’ve got a real strange way of saying that, you know.”
he glances at the shattered pieces again, then back at you. “if i didn’t, i’d have made you clean every damn teapot in this place.”
you let out a shaky laugh, relief flooding through you.
the next morning, when you come into the dining hall, you notice something waiting by your seat, a brand new teacup. delicate, with the same faint pattern as levi’s.
and when you glance across the room, you see him drinking from an identical one.
he doesn’t say anything, just meets your eyes briefly over the rim before looking away, pretending he didn’t just buy matching teacups for the both of you.
still, you can’t help the quiet smile that creeps up on you.
and when you sit down beside him later, he mutters under his breath “don’t break that one too.”
when someone asks me what day changed my life, and i can't answer the day i watched the walking dead for the first time, so i just say the day i was born
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