⋆˚࿔ 𝓃ℯ𝓉ℯ𝓎𝒶𝓂 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The front door creaked open.

Daryl stepped inside, crossbow still slung across his back out of habit, boots dusty from wherever he’d been. The second his eyes found you, the hard lines of his face softened in that way they only did for you. He didn’t say anything at first. Just kicked the door shut, dropped the crossbow against the wall, and crossed the room like the only thing that mattered in the whole damn world was getting to you.

“Hey,” he rasped, voice low and rough. He dropped to one knee in front of the couch without hesitation, big hands- scarred and calloused- gently lifting your swollen feet into his lap. His thumbs pressed into the arches with careful, practiced pressure. “How’s my baby?”

“Which one?” you teased, even though your voice came out softer than you meant it to.

A small, crooked smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the highest point of your belly, then another, slower one, right over the spot where the baby had just kicked. “Both’a ya.”

He stayed there a minute, forehead resting against the swell of you, breathing you in. Then he was up again, moving toward the kitchen like a man on a mission.

“You ain’t lifted nothin’ today, right?” he called over his shoulder.

“Daryl, I’m pregnant, not helpless.”

“Same damn thing right now,” he muttered, but there was no bite in it. Only that fierce, quiet protectiveness that had only gotten stronger the bigger you got. He started pulling things from the pantry- canned tomatoes, some of the fresh greens from the garden, the last of the cornbread Carol had dropped off yesterday. “You sit. I’m makin’ that soup you like. The one with the little noodles.”

You watched him move around the kitchen, this man who used to sleep with one eye open in the woods, now carefully measuring water and muttering to himself about salt. He did everything. Carried every bucket, every load of laundry. Fixed the wobbly step on the porch before you could even mention it. Walked the perimeter of Alexandria twice as often just to make sure it was safe. And at night, when the fear got too loud in your chest, he’d pull you against him, one hand spread wide over your belly like he could shield both of you from the world with nothing but the warmth of his palm.

But you saw it. The way his jaw tightened when he thought you weren’t looking. The restless energy in his shoulders. The way he’d started disappearing for an hour here and there with Rick.

He was freaking out.

And you were too.

After dinner- eaten on the couch because standing for too long made your back seize- he wiped his hands on a dish towel and stood.

“Gonna go check in with Rick. You need anythin’ before I head out?”

You shook your head, offering him what you hoped was a reassuring smile. “I’m good. Go.”

He hesitated, eyes searching your face like he could read every worry you were trying to hide. Then he leaned down, kissed your forehead, your cheek, and finally your lips- slow, lingering, just like he does every time he goes somewhere.

“Be back soon,” he said quietly. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

You sat there for a minute, hand on your belly, feeling the baby shift again. Then you pushed yourself up- slowly, because everything was slow these days- and made your way down the street to Carol’s.

She opened the door before you could even knock, like she’d been expecting you. One look at your face and her expression melted into something soft and knowing.

“Come on in, honey. Kettle’s already on.”

You settled at her kitchen table while she poured tea. The house smelled like fresh bread and lavender. Safe. Domestic. The kind of normal that still felt like a miracle some days.

Carol sat across from you, sliding a mug over. “Talk to me.”

The words came out in a rush you hadn’t planned.

“I’m scared, Carol. Like… really scared. Labor. The baby. What if something goes wrong? What if Denise can’t… what if I can’t do this? And Daryl-” Your voice cracked. “He’s trying so hard to be strong for me, but I can see it. He’s terrified. What if I add to that? What if I’m not enough for him and the baby and-”

Carol reached across the table and took your hand, squeezing gently.

“First of all,” she said, voice steady and warm, “you are already enough. That man out there? He looks at you like you hung the moon. And he’s gonna look at that baby the same way. Second… being scared doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human. I was scared out of my mind with Sophia. But you don’t have to do any of this alone.”

You blinked hard, tears threatening.

“He keeps doing everything,” you whispered. “Carrying things, cooking, rubbing my feet… it’s so sweet it hurts. But I know he’s talking to Rick because he doesn’t want to dump it all on me. And I’m doing the same thing to you.”

Carol smiled, small and sad and fond all at once. “That’s what we do for the people we love. We carry what we can. And we let them carry what they need to. You two are gonna be okay. That baby’s already got two parents who would burn the world down to keep it safe. That counts for a lot.”

You stayed a little longer, letting her steady presence settle your fried nerves. By the time you waddled back home the sun had dipped low, painting the sky in streaks of pink and orange.

Daryl was already there when you stepped inside.

He looked up from where he’d been sitting on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, like he’d been waiting. The second he saw you, he stood and crossed the room, pulling you carefully into his arms. His chin rested on top of your head, one hand sliding down to rest over the baby.

“You okay?” he asked into your hair.

You nodded against his chest. “Talked to Carol.”

He was quiet for a beat. Then, rough and honest, “Talked to Rick.”

You pulled back just enough to look up at him. His blue eyes were stormy with everything he wasn’t saying.

“I’m scared too,” you admitted softly. “Of the pain. Of doing it wrong. Of bringing a baby into all this.”

Daryl’s throat worked. He lifted one hand to cup your cheek, thumb brushing away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen.

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with bein’ scared,” he said, voice low. “I’m scared shitless. But I ain’t goin’ nowhere. You hear me? Whatever happens… we do it together. You an’ me. An’ this little one.”

He dropped to his knees again right there in the middle of the living room, arms wrapping around your waist, face pressed gently to your belly. You felt his breath warm through the fabric of your shirt.

“Hey in there,” he murmured, so quiet you almost missed it. “Your mama’s the strongest person I know. An’ I’m… I’m gonna try real hard to be the kinda dad you deserve. So you just… stay in there a little longer, alright? Let us get ready for ya.”

Your fingers threaded into his hair, holding him there. The baby kicked once, right against his cheek, like an answer.

Daryl let out a shaky laugh, the sound muffled against you.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “I hear ya.”

You stayed like that for a long time- him on his knees, you standing with your hands in his hair, the last light of day fading around you. Two nervous messes in the middle of the safest place you’d known in years, holding onto each other and the tiny life between you.

Neither of you said it out loud, but the promise hung in the air anyway.

Whatever came next- you wouldn’t face it alone.

It was only a few days later when the first real contraction hit.

You were in the kitchen, trying to reach for a glass on the counter, when a deep, tightening band wrapped around your belly and lower back like someone had pulled a rope tight. It stole your breath. You gripped the edge of the sink, eyes wide, heart suddenly hammering.

What was that?

It passed after thirty seconds, but the fear didn’t. You hadn’t felt anything like it before. Not the little Braxton Hicks. This was different. Stronger. Real.

“Daryl!” Your voice cracked as you called for him. He was out back chopping wood, but he dropped the axe the second he heard you and came running.

One look at your face and he knew.

“Shit. Okay. Okay, darlin’. I got you.” His arm was around you instantly, steady and warm, the other hand already on your belly like he could hold the pain back himself. “We’re goin’ to Denise. Right now.”

You didn’t argue. The walk to the infirmary felt longer than it ever had. Another contraction came halfway there- stronger this time- and you had to stop, leaning into Daryl’s chest while he rubbed slow circles on your back and murmured, “Breathe, baby. Just breathe. I’m right here.”

Denise took one look at you and got you on the exam table. After checking, her face was calm but serious.

“You’re in early labor,” she said gently. “Contractions are coming, cervix is starting to change. Baby’s head is down and everything looks good… but you’re still a little early, and with how big you’ve been measuring, I want you on bedrest here in the infirmary so I can keep a close eye on you. Just in case.”

You nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. Daryl’s hand never left yours.

They got you settled in one of the back rooms with a real bed, fresh sheets, and a window that let in soft afternoon light. Denise hooked up a simple monitor to listen to the baby’s heartbeat- strong and steady, like a little drum.

Word spread fast.

Rick was the first to show up, Judith on his hip. He stepped in quietly, eyes soft when he saw you propped up against pillows.

“Hey,” he said, voice low. “Heard the news. How you feelin’?”

“Scared,” you admitted honestly.

Rick gave a small smile. “That’s normal. Judith came fast when she decided it was time. You got this. And if you need anything you just say the word.”

He stayed a little while, letting Judith babble at your belly like she already knew there was a new friend coming. When he left, he clasped Daryl’s shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. No words needed.

Maggie came by later with a basket of fresh vegetables and some of the good tea. Tara brought a stack of clean blankets she’d washed herself. Even Eugene stopped in, awkward but sincere, offering a long winded but heartfelt wish for “optimal outcomes.”

But through it all, Daryl and Carol never left your side for long.

Carol had claimed the chair on your left like it was her post. She brought soup, helped you sip water, braided your hair back when it started sticking to your neck from the nerves. Every time a contraction came, she was there- counting with you, reminding you to breathe low and slow, her voice steady and warm.

Daryl barely sat. He paced sometimes, ran a hand through his hair, but the second you reached for him he was there- climbing onto the narrow bed beside you, letting you squeeze his hand until your knuckles went white. He didn’t say much. He didn’t have to. The way he looked at you- like you were the bravest, most beautiful thing he’d ever seen- said everything.

“You’re doin’ so good,” he whispered during one bad contraction, forehead pressed to yours. “So strong. I’m so damn proud of you.”

Hours passed. Night fell. Contractions got closer, stronger. Denise checked you again and nodded.

“It’s time.”

The delivery room was small but bright, lit with lanterns and the soft glow of an old lamp. Denise was calm and focused. Carol stood on one side of the bed, holding your hand and your leg when it was time to push. Daryl was on the other, your hand crushed in his, his other hand stroking your hair back from your sweaty forehead.

“You got this,” he kept saying, voice rough with emotion. “You’re the strongest person I know. Push, darlin’. I’m right here. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

It hurt. God, it hurt. But every time the pain crested, Daryl’s voice was there, low and steady, and Carol’s calm instructions guided you through it.

And then-

A cry.

A beautiful, strong, angry little cry.

Denise lifted the baby carefully, wiped her face, and laid her on your chest.

“A girl,” she said, smiling wide. “Healthy. Perfect. Ten fingers, ten toes. Look at all that dark hair.”

Your daughter.

She was tiny and pink and perfect, already rooting against your skin like she knew exactly where she belonged. Tears spilled down your cheeks as you touched her little hand, her soft cheek. Daryl made a sound you’d never heard from him before- a broken, awed laugh- and leaned in, pressing his lips to your temple, then to the baby’s head.

“Hi, little girl,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Hi, baby. I’m your daddy. I got you. I got both of you.”

Carol was crying openly now, one hand over her mouth, the other still holding yours. “She’s beautiful. Oh, honey… she’s so beautiful.”

You were still catching your breath after delivering her and the placenta, still floating in the overwhelming rush of love and relief, when another contraction hit- sharper, different. You felt the unmistakable, urgent need to push again.

Your eyes flew wide. “Denise- I- I feel like I have to push again-”

Denise moved quickly, checking you with steady hands. Her eyes widened, surprise and wonder flooding her face.

“There’s another head,” she said, voice full of stunned joy. “You’re having twins!”

The room erupted.

Daryl’s head whipped around so fast you thought he might hurt himself. “Twins?! The fuck-?”

Carol let out a shocked, delighted laugh that turned into happy tears. “Twins! Oh my God!”

You didn’t have time to process it. The urge to push was back, stronger than before. Denise coached you through it while Daryl held your hand so tight you thought he might break it- and you didn’t care. Another push, another cry, and then Denise was lifting a second baby.

“A boy,” she announced, laughing now. “Another healthy baby. You’ve got one of each!”

Twins.

A daughter and a son.

The room was pure chaos and pure joy. Daryl was laughing and crying at the same time, tears tracking down his face into his scruff as he looked between you and the two tiny lives on your chest. Carol was openly sobbing, kissing your forehead, kissing the babies’ heads, murmuring, “You did it. You did so good. Look at them. Look at your babies.”

Denise wrapped them both in soft blankets and laid them skin-to-skin on you- one on each side of your chest. Your daughter had a tuft of dark hair like Daryl’s. Your son had the same strong little cry. Both of them warm and alive and yours.

Daryl climbed carefully onto the bed beside you, one arm around your shoulders, the other hand gently touching each tiny head like he was afraid they might disappear if he blinked.

“Twins,” he kept saying, half in awe, half in disbelief. “We got twins. Holy shit. Where the hell were you hidin' lil man?”

You turned your face into his neck, laughing through your tears. “Surprise?”

He kissed you then kissed each baby again.

Carol leaned in, brushing a finger over your daughter’s cheek, then your son’s. “They’re perfect. Both of them. You’re all perfect.”

The door cracked open just enough for Rick to peek in- he must have heard the commotion. His eyes went wide when he saw the two bundles.

“Twins?” he breathed, grinning like an idiot. “Well I’ll be damned.”

“Twins,” Daryl confirmed, voice thick. He looked at you like you’d hung every star in the sky. “She gave me twins.”

The love in the room was thick enough to touch. Denise was still smiling as she finished cleaning you and everything else up. Carol kept stroking your hair. Rick stayed in the doorway, eyes soft, like he was witnessing something sacred.

And Daryl- Daryl- couldn’t stop touching you. Your face, your hair, the babies, like he needed to keep proving to himself that this was real. That you were all here. That after everything, you’d given him this impossible, beautiful thing.

“I love you,” he whispered against your temple, voice raw. “So much. All three of you. I’m the luckiest bastard alive.”

“We did it,” you whispered back.

Daryl’s forehead rested against yours, eyes closed, breathing you in.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “We did.”

Outside the window, the first pale light of dawn was starting to touch the sky over Alexandria.

And inside the small room, surrounded by the people who loved you most in the world, your family had just doubled.

♡ daryl’s other hand slowly crept into your hair, starting to pull it back and collect it in his grasp, a makeshift ponytail in a way as his fingers started to push a bit deeper making you whine in confusion and tense up..

♡ sensing your distress he’d stat sweetly murmuring in your ear as he got down to your level telling you “not to worry yer purty head bout it,” and to “jus take it… yah like that.. let me in.. let it happen”, your breath would hitch at the feeling of his middle finger going too far back and you try to push his hand away as you feel your sensitive stomach churn from your gag reflex being stimulated..

♡ as soon as you relize he’s tricked you it’s too late, all you could do is angrily furrow your brows as he tugs your hair and pushes your pretty head towards the toilet as he pushes his large fingers deep down your throat in one swoop, making you start to finally start throwing up..

♡ he’d just wipe his fingers off on his jeans and kiss the side of your face as you continued to get the nasty bug out of your system, holding you close as you trembled and heaved.. whispering up in your ear “baby come on.. wasn’t gonna play those games with ya, you know that damit..” and “don’ be mad, knew you had to do it..”, he had good intentions he really did but daryl just thinks differently..

♡ he’s not grossed out by any of it, not the sound, smell feeling, nothing, he just wipes away the drool and bits away from your chin and bottom lip as you cry like a baby because you would have rather tortured yourself all day and night than let nature take its course..

♡ daryl would just hold you and slowly sway you back and forth feeling a bit guilty inside but much better now that a bit of color has come back to your skin, casually flushing the toilet like he didn’t just do something gross and morally grey but you’d forgive him because you can feel yourself feeling sleepy and level headed for the first time in a long while, your mans so gross but he takes care of you..

Warnings: This is an AU of Season 7 (or even of Season 8, because it's after Negan is jailed, but whatever) - Glenn lives, and I did not specifically mention Abraham dying, so you can imagine that he lived too if you want to - Negan is in jail and all the communities, including what's left of the Saviors, are now living in peace; Glenn, Maggie, and the reader are all in an established poly relationship - at this point in the series, Glenn and Maggie would have been 'married', so the reader is a part of that marriage as well (and though I didn't explicitly state it in the fic, I imagine that the reader goes by the last name Rhee as well); this is during the part of the timeline when Maggie was pregnant (this is why I am saying S7, rather than S8) - still very early on in her pregnancy; discussion of Maggie's body going through changes due to the pregnancy (her gaining weight and a brief, passing mention of her feeling insecure due to that weight gain), also mentions of the pregnancy hormones increasing her libido; this fic DOES use Y/N; the reader has a vagina and breasts and uses she/her pronouns - the reader also has the ability to get pregnant and expresses the desire to get pregnant during the fic; there is mentions of the reader's breasts becoming 'swollen' during pregnancy, but this doesn't denote her pre-pregnancy size, this is just a symptom that comes with pregnancy and an exaggerated descriptor due to the kink-side of her partners being excited about her becoming pregnant; this has very little plot and is mostly smut; warnings for the smut specifically: technically pregnancy sex (because Maggie is pregnant) even though she is the dom commanding the two subs and not actually the one being fucked; a lot of sub/dom dynamics - Maggie is extremely dominant (she is a mean, rough dom), the reader is submissive (she is bratty and teasing), and Glenn is submissive (he is soft and very well behaved); Maggie calls the reader 'little bird' and 'darling girl' and 'brat' and 'whore', and 'sweet little bitch', and 'breeding bitch'; Mommy kink - both Glenn and the reader call Maggie Mommy; brat taming - between Maggie and the reader; bondage - Maggie ties the reader's wrists behind her back, and later in the fic, ties Glenn to the bed with his own belt; punishment and reward - the reader misbehaves and Maggie punishes her (and eventually rewards her); some brief descriptions of anal sex (as a brief flashback - and the flashback is trigger when Maggie uses it as a threat towards the reader, but it's not a main point of this fic); fingering - reader receiving; spanking/pain kink - from Maggie towards the reader; Maggie whips the reader with a belt (across the ass, in a way that is described as pleasure-pain); using a knife to cut off and remove clothes; unprotected penis in vagina sex - between Glenn and the reader; overstimulation - Glenn is 'forced' to cum multiple times to the point where it is painful (but he enjoys it); breeding kink - as I mentioned before, the reader wants to get pregnant (and Maggie also really wants this so that their babies will be close in age, and as things progress, Glenn gets very into it as well); mentions of using a vaginal plug (to keep the cum inside); I think that's actually about it.

A/N: Title comes from a song by Xdinary Heroes of the same name. I have been wanting to write more 'quick' fics for TWD, and this fic was supposed to be like 5k, and even though it turned out way longer than I intended it to, this is definitely one of my quicker fics. So I am really happy with it. I want to write more PWP for The Walking Dead because those fics will be quicker, and because it will help me write fics for characters I haven't yet written about that I really want to write for. So I am definitely going to be writing more PWP fics between working on my longer Daryl fic. Anyway, I had a lot of fun working on this fic, and while I most definitely did not think that this was going to be my first fic of the year, I am super excited to share it with you guys, and I really hope that everyone enjoys it!

...

Patience. 

It was one of the things that Maggie had mastered since becoming the leader of The Hilltop - well, the ‘unofficial’ leader. If you asked any one of the people who lived in the small community, they would tell you that Maggie was their leader. They would tell you that they looked to her for every important decision, even unimportant ones, and they followed her lead in everything. 

Gregory was nothing more than a figurehead - though, in a lot of ways, he wasn’t even that. Figureheads were supposed to be a symbol that people looked to as a representation of something good. But all Gregory represented was cowardice, selfishness, and these days - avoidance of any responsibilities that he claimed to have. He claimed that he was still the undisputed leader of the community, and that all the ‘work’ he had put into Hilltop most definitely still meant something to the people living there. But when it came to major decisions, if Maggie, Glenn, you, Sasha, and Jesus outweighed him on his word, then he simply didn’t get his way. 

Which led him to throwing a lot of childlike fits. Which led to Maggie being forced to develop a great deal of patience when it came to him. 

Often times, when Gregory huffed and argued with her, she could hear her father’s voice in the back of her mind, ranting on about Job and how God wouldn’t impart wrath on the ‘weak minded’ - especially when she felt the itch of her hand straying toward her gun. She wondered if her father had some hand in sending a man named Jesus to watch over her, ensuring that she didn’t murder this awful, annoying man in cold blood. 

“No, no. Absolutely not, I simply won’t have it!” 

Gregory’s petulant voice echoed off the walls of the front sitting room that he had declared as his ‘office’ - clearly, he was trying to have some power over the meeting that he had called to talk to Maggie about this latest issue. He sneered a grand huff through his nostrils as he hurled himself back into his seat - a luxurious upholstered chair that sat tall behind the large oak desk that he claimed to ‘work’ at. 

Maggie knew that he spent most of his time sitting there, reading through the expensive first edition book collection that lived in the Manor while he drank through the rare Scotch that Negan had given him when the extortion deals had still been in place. Hard work wasn’t something he was familiar with. 

Currently, he was throwing a fit because Maggie had demanded (‘suggested’ Jesus would remind her to say during the meeting) - that more of the beds within the house actually be put into use with winter coming up. The Manor was large and had over ten functional bedrooms, and currently, only two of them were in use. One - the largest main bedroom, being used by Gregory, as it had been since The Turn. 

And the second, more recently, being one of the smaller bedrooms on the ground floor had been taken up by you, Glenn, and Maggie. The three of you had only moved in there at Jesus’s insistence when he found out about Maggie’s pregnancy, and he felt utterly insulted at the idea of a pregnant woman sleeping outside in a trailer with thin metal walls. 

Gregory hadn’t liked the idea of the three of you moving into ‘his house’ - Maggie already knew that his ego took up most of the Manor, but he seemed especially perturbed about the three of you in particular moving in. And when prodded on the manner, he awkwardly danced around the fact that he seemed uncomfortable with your polyamorous relationship. Maggie wasn’t surprised. Even with the society everyone once knew dead and gone, only those closest to you seemed to truly understand what the three of you had without mocking it or believing that it was purely sexual. 

But Gregory’s annoyance and even anger toward you and Glenn only made it more satisfying for Maggie to fuck her two lovers in the new found comfort of the Manor’s bed, louder and louder, knowing that he might be kept awake at night by the noise and feel too awkward to say anything about it. 

But right now, as she stood with her arms firmly crossed, glaring him down, Maggie knew that this wasn’t just about you or Glenn or even the comfort of her and her unborn child. This was about the other people in the community who didn’t need to be stuck outside in poorly insulated trailers during the winter, sleeping on makeshift cots for beds when there was a luxurious mansion sitting twenty feet away. Gregory had been selfish and petulant long enough - if the house was his last stand, the place where he truly drew a line, then he could be the one to sleep outside. 

“This matter isn’t up for discussion, winter is coming up, and-” Maggie began, speaking firmly, but of course, she was cut off. 

“You’re right! This isn’t up for discussion!” Gregory bolstered back. “I don’t need a bunch of… hoodlums running in and out, potentially breaking my priceless artifacts-” 

Off to the side, you let out a harsh scoff. 

Your annoyance was already thick in the air and Maggie wondered if she was going to regret bringing you into this meeting. 

You were sitting in another one of the well padded chairs in the corner, your legs thrown over the arm of the chair in that care-free way that you always had about you. You gave Gregory a look that said you were amused, but tired of his bullshit, and Maggie wasn’t sure if she was thankful for the back-up or already tired at the thought that she might have to wrangle you away from a conflict with him. (Because historically, you had much less patience when it came to dealing with Gregory.) 

“Newsflash, asshole. Literally everything is priceless now. There’s no money anymore. And the world has literally turned on its head, in case you haven’t noticed. So canned beans and bullets are far more valuable than any of this old crap that you have in here,” 

To punctuate your point, you reached out one of your feet and with absolutely no hesitation, you knocked a vase off a nearby table. It was white with a blue pattern, and Maggie knew that it was likely one of those ‘priceless artifacts’ that Gregory had been talking about. It fell onto the floor and smashed into hundreds of tiny pieces, causing Gregory to jump out of his seat and stare at the mess as girlish gasp fell from his lips. Maggie pressed a firm hand to her forehead, already stressed out at the fact that she would have to mitigate the oncoming fight. 

“It’s all meaningless-” 

“That was Delftware!” Gregory shouted, turning red in the face with how viciously he raised his volume. 

Maggie’s hand brushed over her gun, and she forced herself to clench her fist with patience, moving to stand between you and Gregory when he finally moved out from behind his desk to approach you - not that she thought he would be any threat to you. The man was all talk. But still, she put a hand in the middle of his chest to force him to keep his distance while he glared at you over her shoulder. She became even more aggravated at the fact that she could almost feel the way you were smirking back at him, even if she couldn’t see it. 

“It’s just a damn vase, calm down.” Maggie told him, knowing that her annoyance wouldn’t do much to calm him down, but unable to hold back the words. 

“Ca - calm down? Me? Calm down?” Gregory balked, looking at her, utterly insulted. “You come into my home, break my things, and-” 

“And we tend your gardens to keep you fed, keep Walkers away, negotiate peace and trade with the other communities. Doesn’t Jesus do your laundry?” You added on, sass and impatience absolutely full in your voice. “If it wasn’t for Maggie and the people loyal to her, you would die naked and starving. But a pretty vase is more important, right?” 

Maggie locked her jaw, resisting the urge to add onto your point and agree with you, not wanting to add fuel to the fire. She hoped that your words - words that nobody else had dared to speak aloud, at least not to Gregory’s face before - would finally sink in. 

She wouldn’t find herself so lucky. 

Instead, the man continued to gape at the two of you, looking dumbfounded and insulted, as if he truly could not believe what you were saying. 

“I - I founded this community.” He said, going back to the only small leg he had to stand on. “I - uh. Are you going to let your little lackey talk to me this way?” He asked, turning to Maggie, as if hoping that she would dismiss you. 

Before Maggie was forced to pick a side in the spat, you spoke up again. 

“Are you stupid?” You asked, the words clearly directed at Gregory, sounding entirely casual and conversational, rather than intended to be a genuine insult. 

“Excuse me?” Gregory gasped. “How dare that you insinuate that my intelligence is anything other than above average, I have a degree from-” 

“It was just a question.” You shrugged. “I didn’t say ‘you are stupid’. I asked ‘are you stupid?’ - I was just wondering.” 

Maggie sighed and rolled her eyes, turning to you. 

“You. Hallway. Now.” She told you firmly, pointing a hand out toward the door, making an order that she hoped you would be smart enough not to refuse. 

You gave her a small smirk that she knew too well - you had been playing it up, dancing on her last nerve on purpose. Then, something inside of her shifted. All the tired frustration that she had been feeling was like coal to a wicked fire, fueling her into a lustful beast. One that was set to attack you the second that she got you alone. 

You got up out of your chair and moved into the hallway like she had told you to, your boots crunching over the bits of smashed porcelain that were still scattered across the floor. 

“Oh thank god, please tell me that you’re going to punish that wretched beast of a girl.” Gregory sighed. 

Maggie was planning on punishing you - but most definitely not in a way that Gregory would ever know about. 

Maggie turned back to him, fixing him in her sharp gaze now. 

“We are gonna start movin’ people into the bedrooms, whether you like it or not.” She said, making sure he knew that her decision was final. “If you don’t want to live in the house with other people, you can move into one of the trailers, or you can take your chances out on the road and try findin’ someplace else.” 

“You’re being completely unreasonable-” 

“And clean up that damn mess.” She said with finality as she moved to leave the room, slamming the door on his protests about how you should be forced to clean it up instead. 

When she was alone in the hallway with you, her gaze fixed on you like a hungry lioness. You were caught in her crosshairs, and there was no way you were going to escape. (Not that you wanted to.) 

You were leaning against one of the walls, perched there oh-so-casually, clearly waiting for her - maybe you weren’t clever enough to run away, not expecting the full measure of the wrath that she was about to bring onto you, or maybe you were eagerly awaiting it. 

“Are you stupid?” Maggie barked at you, recycling your own words back onto you as a kind of taunt. 

She crossed the hallway in three long strides, soon crowding into your personal space, and didn’t give you a moment to answer the question before she was devouring your mouth. She pinned you even tighter against the wall, completely uncaring of who might come across the two of you and see the utterly carnal exchange - nothing loving to mistake about it, gnashing teeth and panting breath, Maggie trying to devour you in a way that spoke of revenge. Clearly trying to shut you up, and you letting out precious little whimpers as you quickly became turned on by her powerful actions and struggled to keep up. 

“I’m not stupid.” You huffed against her chin when she finally pulled back from your lips, looking you in the eyes with a fierce, demanding gaze once again. “Maybe I’m just bored, or-” You choked on a breath, the words dissolving off in your throat. 

“What?” Maggie demanded. 

She could see the thoughts swimming behind your eyes, something lethal and lustful, something you were almost afraid to say. 

“Come on, speak up. Tell me, little bird.” 

It was a nickname that made you weak, caused a whimper from deep in your chest - something that she had called you since the beginning of the relationship that made your pussy flutter and made your heart sing. 

When your jaw quivered in hesitation and you still didn’t speak, Maggie reached up and harshly grabbed your nipple through your shirt - the peak already stuck off and visible through the thin fabric of your tee shirt, no bra in sight, making you even more of a tease in her eyes. She twisted harshly and wiggled her hold on the sensitive point for a prolonged moment, trying to force words out of you. You let out a small whine, and finally folded to her whims, divulging that secret desire. 

“I - I can’t stop thinking about how good you look cause you’re all knocked up,” You said, your voice edging on a whisper, trying to keep it as a secret just between the two of you. 

Your hands came forward and cradled her hips - hips that were now wider than they used to be thanks to the epic hunger the pregnancy had given her, something that made you and Glenn proud to satisfy as her providers while she was so busy providing for everyone else. Initially, the weight gain and the way her body changed in make-up (the fact that she was now more curvy than she ever had been) made her feel self conscious, made her feel a bit alien in her own skin. Especially when she had asked Glenn to get her bigger jeans on one of his last scavenging runs.

But now - Maggie’s insides were burning hotter than they had in weeks, raging with confidence and power and sheer need, and what you said cranked the fire up to a full blown inferno.  

“I can’t stop thinking about how gorgeous you look.” You said, digging your thumbs into the spot right above the waistband of her jeans, creating an intense tingle across her skin. “I… I wanna be gorgeous like that too.” 

The last words came out in a tiny, shy croak, and Maggie almost thought she was mistaken by your meaning - were you saying that you wanted to be pregnant too? 

“Say it.” Maggie commanded, stroking a sharp thumb across your cheek and your bottom lip, loving the absolutely enraptured, glassy look in your eyes already. “Say it, little bird.” 

“I wanna get pregnant.” You told her, your throat tight around the words as you became swallowed up by your own lust, the statement delivering a beautiful gut punch to Maggie’s stomach. 

Her mind was instantly flooded with images of Glenn fucking into you furiously at her command, pulling out - his cock red and raw, drooling and wet with a combination of your cum and his, leaving your cunt used and leaking. Maggie would shove that cum back up inside of you with her fingers to make sure that it took, forcing tears from your eyes as you whined and complained about how sore you were - but it was what you asked for. Your body needed to be fucked and used and filled if you wanted a baby. 

She conjured up mental images of your tits swollen and aching, holding them in her hands and feeling how heavy they were, getting to grope all over your body to feel how big and beautiful you were becoming with Glenn’s baby growing inside of you. 

And of course, the sentimental part took hold, and she realized that it meant that your kids would grow up close in age. They would be half-siblings biologically - just like her and Beth. It was a needy chime that clanged in her heart that instantly needed to be answered. If you wanted to be pregnant, then Maggie would make it happen. 

And then, another stroke of genius flashed into her mind. 

She grabbed your wrist and dragged you toward the stairs, and along the way, she spotted something hanging on the railing that would definitely help her in her quest - Jesus had left one of the ropes for the horses bundled up there, so Maggie grabbed it in her free hand and continued hauling you along forcefully behind her. 

She smiled widely to herself when she arrived at the end of the hallway and pushed you in through Gregory’s bedroom doorway. He didn’t want people ruining his precious house. Fuck him. Maggie was going to ruin his damn bed. 

She followed in behind you and slammed the door shut behind her, and you stared at her with lustful awe in your eyes. 

“Uh - Mags, don’t we need Glenn for this part?” You asked, feeling a bitter thrill run up your spine as you watched her take out her knife and cut off a short length of the rope with it. 

Maggie let out a dark chuckle - one that made your pussy clench and scared you a little at the same time. She put away her knife, walked over to you, and shoved you down onto the bed with a surprising force. Not that it would take much to topple you when you were this dizzy with lust, shaking with anticipation. 

“Darling girl, you still need to be punished for what you did downstairs,” She told you, giving you a dark look. 

You choked on a moan and felt yourself most definitely getting wetter - this was what you had been hoping for all afternoon. You were absolutely pliant to her actions when she flipped you onto your stomach and brought both your hands behind your back, tying your wrists together with the abrasive rope that most definitely wasn’t meant for this - it rubbed against your skin in a harsh way that lit up your nerves and somehow, turned you on even more. 

Your stomach churned with anticipation and your breath came out in hot pants, and you quickly became dizzier by the second as you wondered what she was going to do to you. 

“Just because that old fucker is an awful, thick-skulled, stupid man doesn’t mean that you get to go around actin’ like a rude brat,” Maggie told you, reaching for the waistband of your jeans and your underwear at the same time, harshly pulling the fabric down over your ass, leaving your drooling cunt exposed to the open air in seconds. 

You clenched around nothing, feeling more wetness leak out of you, and you knew that she could see it - just how embarrassingly needy and wet you were for her. 

“If you can behave yourself through this, then maybe - maybe I’ll go get Glenn and let him stuff your little pussy so you can get your wish, alright?” 

You let out a sharp moan at this, and nodded furiously. 

“But if you keep actin’ like a damn brat, then I’ll probably have him fuck your ass for practice instead and you won’t even get to cum at all,” 

You let out a louder moan - strangely enough, this idea turned you on even more, even though it was entirely counter-productive to your goals. But you remembered the feeling of his cock in your ass from past experiences. 

Back at the quarry camp in Atlanta when he brought you back lube from one of his runs to call you out on something he thought was a joke, and you ended up pinned against a tree with his whimpers huffing in your ear, loving the feeling of his cum running down your leg after he pulled out, laughing about how you were ‘crazy’ and it was a ‘weird first date’ (which, it was). Back before the two of you had Maggie - back before the two of you realized that the crazy sex would actually lead to something more. 

The memory alone caused more wetness to leak out of you - which Maggie wiped up with two fingers that she promptly shoved inside you with a sharp jab, absolutely no gentleness or warning. The touch lit up your insides with that rough, beautiful feeling, causing your hips to seize up off the bed toward her, instantly seeking more of the friction, more of the fullness. 

“God, you are such a little whore,” She taunted you, beginning to fuck you with those two fingers in quick, aggressive strokes. 

“I - I’ll be good,” You choked out, turning your head so that your words wouldn’t be lost against the sheets. “I’ll be good, I swear!” 

“Yeah?” She taunted you, her voice melting into that fake, honey-sweet tone that turned you on far too much. “You gonna be a good whore? You gonna be a good little whore instead of a dumb fucking brat?” 

Then, without any warning, she brought her free hand down onto you in a vicious slap - spanking you harshly across the ass cheek. You let out a moan - enjoying the mixture of bright pain that tingled across your skin and the blinding, sharp pleasure that came from inside of you where she was still fucking you with her fingers, absolutely relentless. She was quickly melting you, turning you into the pliant, submissive, easy girl that she knew you could be. 

She was powerful like that. She could have you exactly where she wanted you within minutes. 

“Are you gonna earn it?” 

She said, her voice becoming slightly breathless from the efforts, but still utterly commanding and powerful in the room - especially past the sounds of you whining and the wet slapping of your pussy under her fingers, being played like a piano for her. Another smack came across your ass from her another hand and you let out another pathetic moan. 

“Are you gonna earn the right to be knocked up?” 

“Yes!” You cried out in return. “Yes, Mommy!” 

“Good girl.” 

… 

“I need to talk to you.” 

Glenn had absolutely no clue what he had done to warrant such a harsh tone from Maggie - firm, demanding, serious. It was her work voice. It was her bossy voice - her ‘something is going down’ voice. 

Glenn knew that Maggie had a meeting with Gregory that morning - the man still demanded to be let in on certain ‘matters’, even though, thanks to Maggie, and Jesus, and Sasha, he had very little control over what went on in the small settlement anymore. But he knew how to push Maggie’s buttons, a lot. So either she was pissed off because of something Gregory had done, or something bad was happening. 

Glenn found himself unable to move, pure fear struck into him due to the tone of her voice alone, and the stern expression that was knit across her face. He had been picking through a large wooden carriage of goods dropped off by The Kingdom, sorting out a trade haul of both fresh and salvaged items that The Hilltop would need to feed everyone. 

Maggie added on even more firmly:

“In private. Now.” 

Roused to action by the urgency of her words, Glenn clattered behind her nervously, then, drawn to her bossy energy like a moth to a flame. Usually, it was something that turned him on, now, it was just putting a terrible anxiety deep in his gut. He pattered behind her confident strides with his usual quick steps, wondering what the hell was going on. 

Since Maggie had become the unofficial leader of Hilltop, her days had been packed with a busy schedule that caused a lot of stress. Naturally, Gregory felt betrayed when ‘his’ people constantly chose her and looked to her for leadership, especially when going through conflicts with the Saviors that ultimately ended in a peaceful unification after Negan had been jailed. (Gregory had felt even more sour when he had chosen the wrong side, and still, Maggie and Rick had chosen to save his life.) 

So these days he mostly just sequestered himself off in his office and drank and pretended that he was actually the one making decisions for the community when everyone looked to Maggie for true leadership. 

This meant that Maggie was the truly busy one - she was the one making decisions about food, building more shelters for the growing community, trading with the other communities around them, how to deal with Walkers and potential threats like the Saviours (should those threats come up), medical care. Her days were packed with meetings, gardening to ensure the security of the food supply, and often, traveling off to the other communities to have more meetings. All while she was dealing with the hormones from her pregnancy. 

She was adorably round as she entered her second trimester, her stomach just starting to show the cute pouch of a true baby bump - something that distracted Glenn increasingly as the days went on and made him smile. (That, along with the fact that her breasts were definitely growing and her ass was most definitely getting wider. Something she complained about that he found… viciously temping.) While she was busy taking care of the entire community, he was trying his best to take care of her - always chasing her down to eat and trying to make sure that she got the right amount of sleep. 

And he was worried that something big and terrible had happened now - something that would cause her and the baby far too much stress. 

When they arrived at the main house, Glenn wasn’t surprised when the large sitting room off to the side was closed off, Gregory clearly having closed himself in, sulking again. Maggie tightly grabbed his hand and began literally dragging him up the stairs, causing him to stumble over his own feet as she raced a bit faster than he could keep up. 

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” He asked, tripping over the edge of one of the fancy long rugs lining the intricately decorated hallways. “Is someone dead?” He dared to ask. “Did I do something? Am I in trouble? Maggie, come on-” 

She shoved him inside the largest bedroom at the end of the hall - a room that Glenn could have sworn belonged to Gregory. But he couldn’t bring himself to care at all when Maggie quickly pulled the door shut behind them, locked it, and then yanked him close with two fingers tucked into his belt. 

He barely had a moment to think before her mouth was on his, smothering him with an intense heat that he had missed so damn badly, even though it had only been two days since the last time they had fucked. 

Oh. The state of her urgency and need for privacy truly clicked into his brain. Oh, fuck. 

Glenn let out a sharp moan into her mouth - one that was only amplified when she pushed her tongue forcefully past his lips and reached for his belt. She swiftly unbuckled it and unzipped his jeans, reaching into the fly to forcefully grope his cock through his underwear, bringing him to full hardness so quickly that his head began to spin. 

He let out another thick groan that was quickly swallowed by her perfect mouth - his mind was melting so quickly that he felt like he was frying inside of a giant pan, but he truly didn’t care. Her touch was just too good - all of it was just too good. 

Glenn almost swore that he could taste the sharp tang of pussy in her mouth, a brightness that made him crave and want even more, that made him dizzy and pliant to her, but that would mean that you - 

“Mommy?” 

Glenn’s stomach jolted when he heard a pathetic moan that wasn’t his own, and Maggie parted far enough from him to allow his head to veer off toward the sound with horny curiosity flashing brightly through him. 

Surely enough, there you were. 

He wasn’t even sure when he had closed his eyes, but when he managed to peel them open, he discovered an utterly filthy sight that he was sure Maggie had left there just for him to enjoy. 

You were propped against the bed, your cheek pressed against the expensive silk comforter, your mouth wide open and drooling, clearly already fucked out. Your hands were tied behind your back with a rough braided rope that was typically used on the horses, one that was abrasive on your skin and would surely leave marks that would last for days or even weeks and would be obvious to everyone. Hell, those kinds of marks might even be alarming to some people who didn’t know about the rumors of your ‘behind closed doors’ activities if you didn’t wear long sleeves in the coming days. 

Your feet were still planted firmly on the floor, leaving your ass exposed to the open air, your stomach leaning on the edge of the bed, with your jeans hastily ripped down to your knees - clearly, Maggie had been in just as much of an urgent rush with you too. The skin of your ass cheeks was bright and raw, already bruising slightly in some places - obviously, Maggie had delivered a vicious spanking to you over something you had done that had displeased her. 

If you had sat through your punishment well, perhaps taking Glenn’s cock would be your reward. Glenn’s body tingled with pleasure at the thought. 

Especially because your cunt was so pretty and used - clearly Maggie had been playing with it while she had been spanking you. You were so wonderfully raw, spread open and puffed with blood and absolutely drunk with your wetness. The glistening slick spread all over your cute pussy hair and leaking down to slick up your thighs, your hole clenching with anticipation - clearly, you hated the emptiness. (Glenn yearned to march over there and thrust inside of you, filling you up - but he was absolutely not mistaken about the fact that Maggie was in charge.) 

He was instantly struck with a mental image of Maggie forcing you onto the bed, tying your hands behind your back and then shoving her face into your cunt - alternating between forcefully fucking you open with her fingers and spanking your ass until you were crying out for her to stop. 

Her arms had gotten so strong from the farm work, long hours digging holes with shovels with no heavy machinery to help the process along, lifting heavy bags of fertilizer even when Glenn insisted she shouldn’t, carrying large buckets of water - Glenn would be lying if he said that the fact that she could pin him down so easily didn’t turn him on. 

The mental image somehow made him even more turned on than he already was. And of course, with perfect timing, Maggie gave another harsh grope to his cock and ravenously bit at his neck. He had a feeling that if anymore blood rushed away from his brain to rapidly fill up his dick and balls, he would likely soon pass out - but then the idea of Maggie simply not caring and using him as an unconscious fucktoy turned him on even more in a wickedly depraved way. 

“Y/N,” Glenn panted out your name, already struggling to breathe. 

You flailed on the bed slightly, looking like a fish struggling on dry land because of the difficult position Maggie had left you in with your hands trapped behind your back (your body likely jelly and tired from one orgasm having rocked you, if not a few by now). Eventually, you managed to crane your head enough to see him, and you let out a little wicked laugh when you saw that Maggie was mauling his neck and already had his pants down over his thighs. 

“Glenn!” You called back breathlessly in return. “You should have run when you had the chance, dude! These pregnancy hormones are making her fucking insane,” 

There was a wicked kind of delight to your voice - and Glenn wasn’t quite sure what the sentiment behind your words was; if you truly felt like he would regret this because Maggie was too wound up to be reasoned with (which could very well be the case). Or if you wanted to keep her all to yourself because you could be a sucker for punishment at times, and you liked her when she was at her most ‘insane’. Glenn had seen how sometimes, you loved to tease Maggie just to drive her ‘insane’ so that she would spank you and overstimulate you until you nearly passed out. 

Glenn, on the other hand, was softer. And typically, he enjoyed one or two rounds of playful sex or even making love - so perhaps your warning was a bit of both. Perhaps you knew that Glenn couldn’t quite handle Maggie when she was like this, but you could. 

At your words, Maggie scoffed and pulled away from Glenn’s skin, and before he could truly miss the sensation of her soft lips sucking on him, he became intrigued by what she did next. She moved to grab his belt, swiftly pulling it out of the loops of his jeans, now wielding the leather in her hands in a way that was all too familiar - a weapon. It was something she had used against you before. 

“Why do you always have to be such a goddamn brat?” 

She scolded you sharply, and then, she stepped toward you, holding on tight to one end of the belt - Glenn watched with a delightful knot in his stomach as she wound her arm back, and he realized a moment too late that the end she was whipping toward you was the end with the metal buckle attached to it. 

“Mommy-” 

“Shut up!” She hissed at you in the same moment that the metal struck across your skin, creating a sharp welt across the width of one of your ass cheeks, causing you to yelp and jolt away from the sensation, and unmistakably - causing a fresh wave of hot slick to gush out of your cunt. 

“Jesus, Maggie, the buckle!” Glenn spoke up, alarmed. 

He couldn’t help it, it was just his nature. Even if you relaxed your muscles and moaned in pleasure moments after the hit washed over you, and you didn’t make any verbal protests. You knew that, even as ‘insane’ as Maggie was, there was always room for you to do so if you needed to. Glenn always had your best interests at heart. Again, he was just soft like that. 

“She’s fine. You know she’s a pain lovin’ whore.” 

Maggie scoffed again, rolling her eyes. But then, something else struck her, causing her hot streak to be turned toward him as she dropped the belt onto the floor with a dull ‘clank’. 

“Wait - what did you just call me?” 

“I - uh-” 

Glenn began to stutter, and instinctively backed up when Maggie charged toward him, almost tripping over his own pants (which had now fallen down around his ankles). But he was quickly stopped in his tracks when Maggie grabbed him by the cock again - taking a firm, deadly hold on his cock and balls through his underwear, causing him to freeze deadly still when her sharp, untrimmed nails dug into his flesh oh-so-slightly. 

He wasn’t one for pain, but for some reason, it sent a perfect tingle through him, and made his cock throb so perfectly. It sent an epic rush of adrenaline through him and he puffed a hot breath into her face while she stared him down with an utterly predatory gaze, and behind her, he could see you flailing again, desperately trying to see what was going on over your shoulder. 

“What did you call me?” Maggie repeated, firmer, fiercer this time. 

“Your name.” He wheezed out, knowing that he sounded utterly pathetic. 

“No, that is not my name.” She replied, annoyance twinging into her voice. “Not here. Not when we’re alone. Now come on - what is my name? What are you supposed to call me?” 

Glenn, growing dizzier with lust by the second, knew that there was only one correct answer. 

“Mommy.” 

He whined in reply, grateful when she released her death grip on his cock and smoothed a more forgiving touch across his shaft through the fabric, causing him to let out a tiny weep of precum in response. He shuddered and let out a whimper and he absolutely did not miss her utterly satisfied cat-like smirk as she turned back to you, giving him one last glance over her shoulder - naturally, with more dominating words. 

“Get undressed. You have work to do.” 

Glenn knew that the instructions were simple and certain for a reason - they were meant to be followed without question. Just like her place in the rest of the world, when Maggie picked out a job for him in their relationship, she assigned it to him with finite simplicity, and it was always best not to question her leadership. 

(He had realized a bit too late that she had decided to get pregnant before he even considered it an option, and he was just happily fucked dumb and too pleased to question why he was allowed to cum inside of her beautiful pussy now.) 

Glenn rushed to undo the buttons of his shirt with clumsy hands, still eagerly watching as Maggie went back over to you, clearly not done with you yet. She raised her hand up, and laid a harsh, open-handed spank across your ass, specifically targeting the harsh welt that the belt buckle had left on your skin to maximize the jolt of pain that went through you. 

It definitely worked, according to the wail you let out and the way your body seized up off the bed. Even though Glenn wasn’t someone usually turned on by pain, he couldn’t deny the way his cock throbbed and let out another thick bead of precum, especially when you choked on a moan as she smoothed her warm hands over your skin, coddling you in turn with the harsh pain. 

“Maggie-” You whined, making the same mistake that Glenn had earlier, earning you another sharp smack - one that had her wedding ring grazing across your skin sharply in a way that made you squeal. 

“Are you stupid?” She barked, quickly moving two fingers back to your gaping cunt and shoving them inside without any gentleness, fucking into your raw hole so quickly that you saw stars. “Or are you tryna piss me off again? Huh?” 

“‘m sorry, sorry! Ah!” 

“What? I’m sorry, darlin’, I can’t hear you!” Maggie replied in a sing-song type voice, clearly teasing you as she continued to viciously fuck your cunt, digging her nails into the flesh of your ass with the other hand, waiting for you to say the magic words - or rather, the one magic word she wanted to hear. 

Glenn’s insides jumped at the pure, filthy ‘squelch’ that rang out through the air, his tongue becoming fat in his mouth as he yearned to push between your thighs and taste that wetness. He raced to tear his feet out of the mess of fabric around his ankles, kicking off his shoes, finally getting out of his remaining clothing to be fully naked and free. He deeply resisted the urge to reach down and touch his throbbing cock where it jutted out from his pelvis, heavy, aching and needy, because he knew that would only get him scolded and put him on Maggie’s bad side. He knew that if he wanted to cum tonight, he should stay on her good side. 

He moved forward to stand behind Maggie, eagerly looking over her shoulder and down at you as he waited for her next direction, drinking in the sight of her two fingers jabbing into your pussy with no mercy. 

“I’m sorry, Mommy!” You cried out in return, finally giving her what she wanted. 

“Better.” She sighed, pulling her fingers out - clearly, she had never been fucking your pussy with the intention of making you cum, but simply playing with you like the toy that you were, winding you up for her own enjoyment. 

She leaned down and left a sharp, sudden bite on your ass, right on that same already sore spot, enjoying the scream you let out - another beautifully pathetic sound that only served to remind her of the power she held over you. 

She then reached to her belt, going for the knife that she always kept there. For a moment, Glenn thought that she might cut the rope and finally free your wrists - but she surprised him when she used a hold on your arm to turn you over until you were resting on your back. 

Once again, moving with utter certainty, she brought the blade to the bottom of your tee shirt and began slicing, easily tearing the fabric in half until your entire body was exposed - leaving your bare chest heaving as you let out a wild moan, far too turned on by the act of her cutting your clothes off you. 

“Fuck, Mommy-” You breathed out, now most definitely in that buttery, utterly subservient headspace that Maggie needed you to be in. 

“You gonna be a good little whore?” Maggie asked with a smirk, putting her knife back into its holster. 

Before you had time to answer, she reached out a sharply twisted one of your nipples, causing you to let out a pathetic wail, arching into the touch. 

“Ah! Yes! Yes, Mommy!” You replied, quivering and entirely subservient to her. “I’m yours. I’m good - I’ll be good. Please.” 

Glenn’s skin was tingling with the feeling lingering in the air, drool easily pooling in his mouth just from getting to witness this. He was surprised when a small gasp escaped his lips as Maggie delivered a small smack to one of your tits, truly driving home her power with a little bit of extra pain, having you moaning and pressing your tits into the air, eager for more. 

“Good.” Maggie said firmly. “Mommy’s glad you’re finally ready to be filled up.” 

Glenn was more than eager and willing, but he should have been slightly afraid when Maggie reached back to the ground and grabbed his belt once again. 

He should have been anticipating that what came next was going to drive him beyond his limits, but truly - he was far too turned on to care. 

… 

Not much later, Glenn found himself flat on his back in the middle of the bed, his hands tangled up and bound by the leather of his belt. He was tied to one of the slats on the fancy wooden headboard, with you completely divested of any remaining clothing and perched above him, your hands still tied behind your back, meaning that both of you had absolutely no control over the situation. Exactly how Maggie preferred things. 

Maggie had manhandled you into place with that perfect, well-worked strength of hers and hadn’t hesitated to perch you right on top of Glenn’s cock, forcing you to sink down on top of his thick, eight-inch length - so now you were surrounding him like a wonderful, wet, hot sleeve. It was a feeling that had driven him insane within seconds. 

Of course, you were clumsy and had practically no control, even though you were the one on top of him. You could do nothing with your arms tight behind your back and your legs weak from Maggie’s earlier brutal fucking of your pussy. You could do nothing but let her guide you. With her hands firm on your hips, she was using you like a perfect doll, like a fleshlight on Glenn’s cock, hammering you down onto his pelvis. 

And though he was blind to how long it had been since you had sunk down onto his cock (he certainly wasn’t timing it and wasn’t keeping an eye on any one of the antique clocks in the room, not with your gorgeous tits swaying in front of his face) - it felt like it had been hours of brutal heat gripping him, smothering him in a private desert that had covered him in a thick sheen of sweat and made his muscles ache from the effort. 

He was already swimming in a puddle of his own cum, his heavy balls already soaked and sloppy slick, making everything sound even filthier every single time Maggie dropped you down on top of him once again, making him feel gross in a way that somehow turned him on. He couldn’t help but to love every second of this - his mind hazy, his mouth wide open as he panted like a dog, desperate for air, your tits bouncing in his face as you moved on top of him with just as much desperation, chanting in quiet mumbles under your breath. 

“Fill me up, fill me up, fuck-” 

Somehow, he was still iron hard inside of you from the sheer demand of your hot pussy squeezing him, from Maggie’s beautiful southern voice going on, and on, telling the both of you exactly what she wanted. 

“He’s gonna fill you up so good,” Maggie said, petting a hand across Glenn’s stomach in a sweet way that made his aching muscles melt. “Aren’t you, honey? Yeah? You’re gonna fill our girl up so good - gonna fill up this little pussy til she can’t take anymore,” 

His cock was almost in pain at this point, and he almost felt like a prisoner, tied up and trapped underneath you with Maggie’s piercing eyes staring at him over your shoulder. But he realized that this was the best place in the world to be trapped. It was a smothering heat, a stinging pain that drove him insane. But it was where he was needed - it was a demand from two of the finest women in the world, a need for him, for his cock - a need that nobody else could ever fill. If it made Glenn a prisoner, then he would serve a life sentence and be a Walker chained up for the two of you to mock and admire as some kind of sick ornament and he would be happy about it. 

It was the best kind of torture he could have ever imagined. 

“Fuck, it hurts,” 

Glenn whined, his head utterly dizzy - he wasn’t even sure if it was a complaint or not, simply a statement of fact. It was a point of awe as a jolt of sharp pleasure-pain zapped through his rod-hard cock and somehow - he found himself loving it, found himself letting out a sharp whine and jostling his hips up into your heat, seeking more of that delicious, deadly feeling. 

“Aww, darlin, it’s almost like you’re new at this,” 

Maggie replied, tossing him a grin. 

She reached around a pinched one of your nipples, and you arched into the touch, and Glenn found his jaw lolling open in a sharp pant, his neck arching forward automatically with the urge to taste, the need to lap over that delicious, plump skin. But he was tied down with his arms stretched high above his head and unable to reach, and if he had any brain left in his head at all, he would have known that he must have looked like a foolish, dumb dog chasing after a treat that he couldn’t have. 

“I get what I want.” Maggie continued on. “And what I want - is for this sweet little bitch to be pregnant. By tonight.” Maggie grabbed your cheeks sharply on both sides to emphasize the point, and you let out a whine in response. “So you’re gonna get your job done, Glenn. You’re gonna breed her up good, or I’m gonna leave the two of ya tied up here til it’s done - got it?” 

Glenn huffed out a breath - the mental image of you pregnant, especially pregnant alongside Maggie, both of you round together, with swollen breasts and glowing skin and… both of you having his babies, both of you needy for his cock, waking him up in the middle of the night, just as demanding as Maggie had been over the past few weeks. It was just as terrifying and dizzying as it was absolutely thrilling. 

“I want it.” You moaned out, your voice echoing and frantic. “I want it, I want it, I want it! Please, Glenn!” 

You looked down at him with tears glassy across your eyes, your utter desperation punching him in the gut. 

You really wanted to get pregnant. You really wanted to get pregnant with his baby. 

Fuck. 

“Promise her.” Maggie barked. “Promise her that you’re gonna knock her up!” 

She then lightly smacked Glenn across the thigh behind you, jolting him into action.

“Fuck, ah!” Glenn gasped. “I promise. I promise, Y/N. I’ll give you whatever you want. I’ll give you as many babies as you want, I swear.” 

He wished that he could have pulled you close to kiss you as a way of sealing his promise, an in that silent way that she always understood him, Maggie grabbed you harshly by the hair and shoved you down toward Glenn, pressing your tits tightly up against his chest as she shoved your mouth into his in a messy, sloppy, somehow very heart-warming kiss. Glenn moaned into your mouth and you shoved your tongue past his lips, entirely eager to taste him. 

“You’re gonna look so gorgeous when you’re all knocked up, little bird.” Maggie whispered in your ear. “Such a pretty little breeding bitch for us,” 

All too soon, she yanked you away from Glenn’s mouth with that hold on your hair, and the harsh tugging on your roots causing a delightful spike of pain combined with her filthy words sent your body spiralling towards the edge. 

“Fuck, Mommy!” 

You choked on a moan and Glenn felt you spasming around him, your hips grinding non-rhythmically on his cock in sharp jumps - fuck, you were cumming. You were cumming just from the idea of him knocking you up. 

And fuck - he was cumming again too. 

Glenn let out a grunt from deep within his chest and instinctively fucked himself up into you in a few sharp pumps. But at this point, when the hot flood came spilling from his cock, mixing with your overflowing wetness and his own previous loads of cum, he couldn’t even tell where the new mess began and the old mess ended. It was all just stickiness and filth at this point. 

There was a single, tiny moment where he thought that his dick just might give up - where his body might forcibly black out and that he would wake up later, inevitably in this same position of utterly beautiful torture. But instead, a sharp, tingling pain ran across his skin and developed into a mild muscle cramp in his pelvis, and he remained rock-hard inside of you, once again squeezed by your gorgeous, wet, warm pussy while Maggie kept grinding you down across his filthy wet pubic hair. 

“Fuck, fuck, Mommy - I’m so full, I’m so full-” 

You stuttered out, your eyes shut and your words slurring with a kind of drunkenness as your head tipped back to rest on Maggie’s shoulder - she looked at you with a unique, utterly satisfied, near villainous expression as she smoothly petted away some stray hairs from your face. Her breasts were heaving inside of her shirt and Glenn could just imagine how wet she was inside of her jeans. 

“Well, that’s the point, little bird.” She told you softly, her voice a coo that was edging on teasing once again. “You’re s’pose to get all full til you’re little cunt can’t take anymore… get all bred up and give Mommy another baby.” 

Glenn let out a growl at these words - his brain utterly possessed by the idea that yes, it was Maggie’s baby. It was his baby. It was your baby, just like the baby inside of her was yours. The three of you so utterly interconnected that you might as well be handcuffed together on a daily basis. 

Maggie put a firm hand on your lower belly, as if to demonstrate her point, as if willing Glenn’s cum to take, to get you pregnant right then and there. You arched into the touch, inadvertently grinding yourself against him in a way that drove him even more insane. 

“I need it, fuck, I need it,” You mumbled out ravenously. “I need to be full, I to be bred, please,” 

Somewhere along the way, Glenn had realized that this was about revenge. 

Maggie wanted to fuck in Gregory’s bed to get back at him. Jesus wouldn’t let her kill him, not without good reason. Especially not since tentative peace had been established with the Saviours - he went on about how ‘no more bloodshed’ was necessary, and in a way, as annoying as he found Gregroy, Glenn agreed. 

So Maggie found other ways to get back at him. She had you and Jesus drink his good scotch to reward the two of you for all your hard work, and she would dilute the bottles with water when the two of you were done. Then she would quietly laugh whenever the man droned on about how good a ‘finely aged’ drink tasted, clearly knowing that his unrefined palette could not taste the difference between actually good scotch and the watered down bullshit that she had left him. She snuck Rick and Daryl some of his fine cigars when they arrived with trade items, and when he asked why the count was lower when he remembered, she acted clueless and told him that his count must have been off. 

But this was the most brazen she had ever been with her taunting of Gregory. 

Some part of Glenn knew that she had absolutely no intentions of changing the sheets - that a great part of her satisfaction would come from leaving dried cum all over his fine linens and either forcing him to clean it up himself (leaving him with the awkward, embarrassing knowledge of what it was). Or letting him be foolish enough to sleep in it if he somehow didn’t notice it. With Maggie always knowing that he was sleeping on the same mattress where Glenn had fucked a baby into you (if he got it right on the first try, which - he didn’t think he was going to miss with this much of his cum stuffed inside of you now). 

And somehow, that thought turned him on, too. 

Maggie reached down behind you and Glenn let out a very undignified wail when she groped his balls - the skin was slick with your wetness, but he was already so sore, his body so spent and used. The touch sent a sensation through his body, rocking him with overwhelming pleasure - he wasn’t sure how he remained conscious at that point. 

“Got anymore for me?” She asked, giving him a wicked grin. “Huh? You gonna be a good boy for me ‘n fill our girl up some more?” 

“Jesus,” Glenn hissed, intensely overwhelmed - between Maggie’s words, her touch, and the clench of your cunt around him once again as Maggie’s other hand reached up to tweak your nipple - her question was truly answered. 

Like a man possessed, Glenn choked on a breath and garbled spit, somehow shooting another load into your already well used, very wet pussy. Maggie hummed in a pleased tone, and then, seemingly, planted her hands on your hips with the purpose of finally moving you off Glenn. 

But she was disrupted by a knock on the door. The sound shook Glenn with anxiety - up until that moment, he had been so perfectly stuck in a bubble where only you, him, and Maggie existed, and hadn’t even thought about the consequences of getting caught. 

“Hey, uh - Maggie?” Jesus’s very timid voice came from the other side of the door. Usually he wasn’t shy, but… god, he must have heard what was going on behind the closed door, making him incredibly hesitant to interrupt. “Sasha just arrived with those panels for the greenhouse that you wanted, and she wants to go over the plans again, so… do you mind coming downstairs?” 

“Be right there!” Maggie called back. 

Much to Glenn’s horror, she climbed off the bed, leaving you to drop back onto Glenn’s cock firmly. You let out another harsh noise as he sank deep inside of you again and Glenn practically saw stars as his body shook with overstimulation. Maggie didn’t look back in your direction - she crossed the room to the door (leaving behind the flannel she had been wearing as an outer shirt, now only in a thin tank top) and her boots, and she scooted out the door, closing it behind her quickly, as to not let any wandering eyes peek inside. 

But this left you and Glenn, tied up, stuck together - his cock still fully seated inside of you. (He was willing himself to go soft, to relax, but it was incredibly difficult with you squirming on top of him and making those pretty little noises as you did so, your tits heaving with every breath, your blissful, fucked-out face still right there in his line of sight, your heat still fully gripping his aching, sore dick. Fuck.) 

“Can - can you get off me?” Glenn choked out, absolutely no power in his voice, meek and whimpery as ever. 

“I’m trying.” You moaned back weakly, still squirming. Your thighs were quivering terribly and your knees were shaking as you tried to lift yourself up, your arms absolutely no help to give you leverage while they were held hostage with the rough rope behind your back. “It’s not my fault I’m stuck on a full seven inches over here.” 

“Eight.” Glenn mumbled back in return. (He wasn’t even being cocky with the correction, not in his opinion. It was simply factual.) 

“Now is not the time, pizza boy.” You grumbled in complaint, letting out another weak whimper when you accidentally caused his tip to graze across a partially weak spot inside of you, causing more wetness to flood out around the base of his cock - something he definitely felt, and hated how it made his cock throb sorely. 

“Fuck, stop that!” He growled at you. 

“Stop? Stop what? Stop trying to get up like you fucking told me to?” You replied, annoyed - Maggie had been gone for about a minute, and you had already developed back into a mean brat. No surprise there. “Make up your fucking mind, Glenn, because I know that you’re whiny and overstimulated, but I could sit on your cock all day if I wanted to-” 

Your empty threat was quickly cut off when the bedroom door swung open again, and Maggie charged back inside. 

“You know, I should make you do it.” Maggie said, clearly having heard your words. 

Both you and Glenn craned your necks to look at her as she sat in one of the large cushioned armchairs and began putting on her boots, all graceful confidence and power, every single move calculated and elegant - making the two of you wait with baited breath before she spoke again. 

“You’re such a goddamn brat - I should make you stay there, stuffed full until I come back to get you.” 

“Maggie, please.” Glenn begged quietly, trying to appeal to her - giving her his best puppy eyes, trying to remind her that he had done nothing wrong. 

She let out a harsh sigh, defeated, unable to resist that look from him. 

When she stood up from the chair, she finally came over and grabbed you with an arm around your waist, hoisting you off Glenn - the two of you parting made the filthiest sound, slick and wet as his cock slapped down onto his stomach. You were left gaping, a flood of cum instantly leaking out of you and making a mess over your thighs and across the bed, exactly as Maggie had wanted. 

Glenn found himself enraptured by the sight - especially when you inevitably clenched your pussy around the empty feeling and more of his cum spilled out of you. 

Maggie couldn’t help herself - she reached out and used two fingers to push the mess back into you, causing you to whimper weakly as the intrusion prodded against your swollen, well-used walls. 

“I should fuck you again.” Maggie whispered against your ear, a hot threat as she shoved her fingers deep inside of you, rough and unforgiving. “I should teach you a lesson for mouthin’ off to Glenn. But - I do have a meeting to get to.” 

You let out a sigh of relief when she pulled her fingers out of you, and then reached for her knife, finally moving to cut the rope holding your wrists giving your now very sore arms some room to move and stretch. Maggie then moved to untie Glenn, and instinctively, when he saw the raw skin of your wrists from the rough texture of the rope, he couldn’t help but to bring your hand up and kiss across your wrist, wanting to soothe it a bit, even if just emotionally. 

“You’re too soft with her.” Maggie scolded him, no real heat behind it. “That’s why she’s such a brat.” 

“Maybe.” Glenn shrugged in reply, giving you a small smile, which you easily returned. 

You wanted to make a comment about how you were a brat because you liked to see how far you could push Maggie - but you held the words in. 

“Go get cleaned up,” Maggie told Glenn, picking up his pants and pushing them into his hands, and then shoving him toward the attached ensuite bathroom. He was quick to move, following her instructions. “I have a long afternoon ahead of me, yammering on about the goddamn greenhouse plans - so unfortunately I can’t just leave the two of you alone in here.” 

“You ruined my shirt,” You whined, moving to pick up your pants and looking at the pile of shredded fabric that had once been your shirt with sad eyes. 

“I’ll get you a new one.” Maggie replied easily. 

When you moved to walk around her, going to use the bathroom to clean the (vast amount of) cum off you, Maggie put a hand in the middle of your still very sweaty chest, stopping you. 

“Don’t think you’re off the hook just cause I have things to attend to.” She said, locking you in that firm gaze once again. 

You caught Glenn’s eye behind her shoulder, and he held in laughter. He genuinely wondered what you had done earlier that day to deserve such a punishment. But he was just glad to be an observer on the sidelines rather than someone at the end of Maggie’s clever lustful wrath. 

… 

For the rest of the day, you received strange looks from everyone who was at Hilltop, trying to go about their day, doing their chores, because you were walking as though you had just gotten off a particularly long, painful horse ride. 

Maybe it was the few extra, vicious strikes to the ass that Maggie had given you when you had complained about the punishment that she was sentencing you to, or maybe it was the punishment itself. That punishment being - stuffing a large plug inside if you in an attempt to keep Glenn’s cum in, and not letting you wash up so that you wouldn’t waste a single drop, wouldn’t wash any of his precious spend down the drain. 

But with the gape that his wide cock had left you in, that small plug wasn’t quite enough to keep bits of his cum from spilling out of you whenever you moved, so along with your dirty thighs and matted pubic hair, every single time you moved, you felt your underwear and jeans becoming more and more soiled with the evidence of what the three of you had done. 

And to the most careful, watchful eye (that being Glenn’s of course - he tried his best to busy himself with his chores, willing his tired, aching cock to stay down, because he feared that it just might fall off if he got hard again that day) - the seam of your jeans where it was pressing up against your cunt was just a bit darker, the fabric actively wet and stuck to you, soaked from his cum leaking out of you and likely from how turned on you still were from the whole thing. 

Glenn had to force himself to focus on his assigned chores, because if he didn’t - he just might have pulled you aside into the trees and tried again to fuck another baby into you. After all, it was what Maggie wanted. And she always got what she wanted in the end.

...

A/N: Please keep in mind, this is a oneshot and there will not be a 'Part 2' or a continuation. If you are going to comment on this fic, please comment on the body of work that has been written, rather than asking for a continuation.

The second time happened in the laundry room.

You were sorting clothes into piles beneath the dim yellow light when Brent wandered in carrying a basket that was barely half full.

He leaned against the doorway watching you for too long.

You ignored him.

Most women learned early how to ignore men like that.

“You always this serious?” he asked.

“Mhm.”

“That all I get?”

“Yep.”

He laughed softly, like you were flirting instead of trying to end the conversation.

You kept folding.

He stepped closer.

“You know,” he said, “I seen Dixon watchin’ you.”

Your hands paused for half a second.

That was mistake number two.

Brent noticed immediately.

A smug look crossed his face.

“Thought so.”

“There a point to this conversation?”

“Nah. Just curious.”

You turned away from him.

He moved closer again.

Too close.

Your shoulders tightened.

“You should back up.”

“Why?” he murmured. “Makes you nervous?”

Then his fingers brushed your hip.

Your entire body went rigid.

You stepped away instantly, basket scraping loudly across the floor.

“Don’t touch me.”

This time there was no mistaking the irritation in your voice.

Brent held up his hands again, but there was something ugly behind his eyes now. Something entitled.

“Jesus. You act like I’m attacking you.”

You stared at him coldly.

“You touch me again, I break your hand.”

For a second, silence stretched between you.

Then he laughed.

Not because he thought you were joking.

Because he thought you couldn’t do it.

You left before your temper exploded.

Daryl noticed anyway.

Of course he did.

Daryl Dixon noticed everything about you.

He noticed when you skipped breakfast because you were upset.

He noticed when your smile looked forced.

He noticed when you stopped lingering beside him during guard shifts.

He noticed when Brent stared at you during dinner hard enough to make your shoulders tense.

And Daryl especially noticed the way you avoided looking at the newcomer altogether.

By the fourth day, his patience snapped.

He found you repairing a tear in Glenn’s backpack near the fencing.

“What’s wrong?”

You glanced up. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

You sighed.

Daryl crouched beside you, forearms resting on his knees, blue eyes fixed on your face with that intense quietness he carried everywhere.

“Someone botherin’ you?”

Your chest tightened immediately.

Because if there was one dangerous thing in the world—

It was Daryl Dixon caring about you.

You looked away first.

“S’not a big deal.”

“The hell it ain’t.”

“It’s handled.”

“Don’t sound handled.”

You threaded the needle too hard and stabbed your finger.

“Shit.”

Daryl instantly reached for your hand.

Large rough fingers wrapped around yours carefully, turning your hand over to inspect the tiny bead of blood.

The gentleness nearly undid you.

“There,” he muttered. “Y’always rush when you’re upset.”

Your throat tightened.

He looked up slowly.

“Who is it?”

You should’ve lied.

Instead, exhaustion won.

“Brent.”

The air changed immediately.

Daryl went still in the way predators did before they attacked.

“What’d he do?”

“Nothin’.”

His expression flattened.

“Try again.”

You hesitated.

Then quietly:

“He keeps touching me.”

Something terrifying flickered across Daryl’s face.

Not anger.

Worse.

Rage so deep it became calm.

“Where?”

You blinked.

“What?”

“Where’d he touch you?”

“Daryl—”

“Where.”

“My waist. Hip. Stuff like that.”

His jaw flexed so hard you heard his teeth grind.

“Did he hurt you?”

“No.”

“Threaten you?”

“No.”

“Did ya tell him stop?”

“Yes.”

Daryl nodded once.

Then stood.

You felt immediate alarm.

“Daryl.”

He started walking.

Fast.

“Daryl.”

You stood too, heart pounding now.

“Daryl!”

He ignored you completely.

Which was worse.

Because yelling Daryl was manageable.

Silent Daryl was catastrophic.

You hurried after him across the yard just in time to see Brent near the fencing talking to Axel.

Daryl walked straight toward him.

Purposeful.

Deadly.

Axel saw his face first and immediately backed away.

Smart man.

Brent looked confused for approximately two seconds.

Then Daryl grabbed him by the front of his shirt and slammed him into the fence hard enough to rattle the chain links.

The entire yard froze.

“What the hell—”

Daryl punched him.

No warning.

No speech.

Just fist colliding with jaw with a sickening crack.

Brent hit the ground.

Daryl followed him immediately.

“You touch her again—” punch “—I break every damn bone in your body—”

Another punch.

Blood splattered across the dirt.

People started shouting.

Rick moved forward.

Glenn grabbed his arm.

“Nah,” Glenn said quietly. “Let him.”

Brent tried to shove Daryl off.

Daryl hit him again.

“You hear me?!” Daryl roared.

The sound echoed across the yard.

You’d heard Daryl angry before.

He shouted.

Snarled.

Threatened.

But this was different.

This was pure protective violence.

The kind born from fear.

Brent spat blood onto the concrete.

“She ain’t your fuckin’ property—”

Daryl lost it.

Absolutely lost it.

He hauled Brent upward only to slam him into the fence again before driving his fist into his stomach hard enough to fold him in half.

“You don’t touch women who tell ya no!”

Another hit.

“You don’t put your damn hands on her!”

Another.

“Ya understand me now?!”

Rick finally intervened when Brent stopped fighting back.

“Daryl!”

Daryl shoved Brent away violently.

The newcomer collapsed into the dirt coughing blood and clutching his ribs.

Daryl stood over him breathing hard, chest heaving, knuckles split open and bleeding.

“Next time,” he said coldly, “I kill ya.”

Silence.

Nobody doubted him.

Not even a little.

Brent looked genuinely terrified now.

Good.

Rick looked between the two men grimly.

Then at Brent.

“Did you touch her?”

Brent stayed silent.

Rick’s expression darkened.

“Did you?”

“…yeah.”

The yard erupted immediately.

Tyreese cursed under his breath.

Maggie looked disgusted.

Carol’s face hardened into something vicious.

Rick nodded once.

“Then you’re done here.”

Brent’s eyes widened.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“You’re throwing me out over some girl—”

Rick grabbed him by the collar suddenly.

“Over a woman telling you no.”

Brent shut up immediately.

“You leave at first light.”

Rick released him hard enough to make him stumble.

Nobody argued.

Not one person.

Because the prison protected its own.

And you were theirs.

That night, Daryl sat alone on the guard tower cleaning blood from his knuckles.

The moonlight painted silver across his shoulders.

You climbed the ladder quietly.

He heard you anyway.

“Shouldn’t be up here.”

You sat beside him.

“Probably not.”

He kept cleaning his hands.

Didn’t look at you.

“You broke his nose,” you said softly.

“Mm.”

“Possibly ribs.”

“Mm.”

You looked sideways at him.

“You could’ve killed him.”

That finally made him glance at you.

His eyes were still stormy with leftover anger.

“Wanted to.”

The honesty stole your breath.

Daryl looked away again quickly, jaw tight.

“Hate men like that.”

Your chest ached suddenly.

Because this wasn’t about pride.

Or jealousy.

Or ownership.

It was about seeing you upset.

Scared.

Violated.

And not being able to stand it.

You reached carefully for his injured hand.

Daryl froze instantly.

Your fingers wrapped around his wrist gently.

“You’re bleeding.”

“S’fine.”

“It isn’t.”

You cleaned the split across his knuckles with water from your canteen.

Daryl watched you silently.

Then muttered:

“Shoulda told me sooner.”

You smiled faintly.

“You punched a man through a fence, Dixon.”

“He deserved worse.”

You laughed softly despite yourself.

His expression eased a little at the sound.

God, he loved your laugh.

You could see it in his face every single time.

Even when he tried hiding it.

The night breeze shifted between you.

Quiet settled comfortably.

Then Daryl spoke again, voice rougher now.

“When he touched ya…”

He swallowed hard.

“I hated it.”

You looked up slowly.

Not because of possessiveness.

Not because another man had touched you.

Because it hurt you.

That distinction mattered.

A lot.

“You scared me,” you admitted softly.

His eyes snapped to yours instantly.

“Would never hurt you.”

“I know.”

“No,” he said firmly. “Need ya t’know that.”

Emotion tightened your throat.

Daryl wasn’t good with words.

Which meant when he forced them out, they mattered.

You squeezed his hand gently.

“I know, Daryl.”

He stared at you for a long moment.

Then his gaze dropped to your mouth.

Your heartbeat stumbled.

“You got any idea,” he murmured quietly, “how hard it is watchin’ ya every day?”

Your breath caught.

“What?”

He laughed once without humor.

“Thought I was hidin’ it better.”

“You…?”

“Yeah.”

The confession seemed to physically pain him.

“I’m bad at this shit.”

You stared at him in disbelief.

This man.

This stubborn, brave, fiercely loyal man.

“You thought I didn’t know?”

Now it was Daryl’s turn to blink.

“What?”

You smiled softly.

“Daryl… you stare at me like I hung the moon.”

He looked horrified immediately.

“I do not.”

“You absolutely do.”

His ears turned red.

Actually red.

You nearly laughed again.

“Shut up.”

“You punched a man bloody because he touched me.”

“He was bein’ a creep.”

“You threatened murder.”

“Still might.”

You laughed fully this time.

Daryl looked at you helplessly.

Then he smiled too.

Small.

Crooked.

Beautiful.

Your chest hurt with affection.

“You know,” you whispered, “that was kind of hot.”

Daryl nearly choked.

“The hell is wrong with you?”

“A lot, probably.”

He shook his head, grinning now despite himself.

Then the smile faded slowly as he looked at you again.

The air shifted.

You felt it immediately.

That pull.

That terrifying almost.

Daryl’s hand moved carefully against yours.

Giving you every chance to pull away.

You didn’t.

His thumb brushed your knuckles once.

Twice.

Then he leaned in slowly enough for you to stop him.

You didn’t stop him either.

The kiss was soft.

Careful.

Like he was afraid of breaking something precious.

Your fingers slid into his hair immediately, and Daryl made a low rough sound in his throat that nearly melted you alive.

When he kissed you again, it was deeper.

Needier.

Months of tension finally cracking open.

He pulled back only enough to rest his forehead against yours, breathing hard.

“You got no idea,” he whispered, “how long I wanted t’do that.”

You smiled against his mouth.

“Do it again.”

So he did.

And somewhere below the guard tower, the prison carried on breathing around you both—

But for the first time in a long time, Daryl Dixon looked genuinely happy.

Brent left at sunrise.

Daryl personally escorted him to the gate.

The Georgia sun was already feeling way too hot by mid-morning, shining down on the farm like it had a personal problem against you as soon as you and the rest of the group had arrived on the Greene's property. After the funeral of a man named Otis, you stood near a truck with your arms crossed, listening to the voices around it. Maggie had put a map onto the hood for Rick and the rest of you to continue the search after Sophia.

"How long has this girl been lost?" Hershel asked, looking at Rick's pale face. You didn't blame him—Carl was still inside the house, recovering and quiet in bed, and everyone else was still somewhat in shock since Otis didn't come back, especially Shane. Or so it seemed.

"This'll be day three," Rick answered, and the sound of exhaustion in his voice was very noticeable.

Finally moving closer after some time, you stood right next to Hershel Greene. Not because you wanted to, but because it was the only space left around the hood of the truck.

"County survey map. Shows terrain and elevations," Maggie had said, making Rick nod, looking at everyone around him.

"This is perfect. We can finally get this thing organized. We'll grid the whole area... start searching in teams."

But Hershel immediately cut him off. "Not you. Not today. You gave three units of blood. You wouldn't be hiking five minutes in this heat before passing out," he said, then looking over at Shane. "And your ankle... Push it now, and you'll be laid up a month, no good to anybody."

This nearly made you open your mouth, about to offer something—you hadn't given any blood, your ankle was fine, and you wanted to help, just like everyone else—but Daryl beat you to it, jerking his chin toward the map and pointing at a spot with one finger.

"Guess 's just me," he threw in. "'M gonna head back to the creek, work my way from there."

Of course.

"I can still be useful," Shane added quickly, adjusting the police cap on his now-shaven head. "I'll drive up to the interstate. See if Sophia wandered back."

Rick looked down but then nodded. "All right, tomorrow then. We'll start doing this right."

"That means we can't have our people out there with just knives. They need the gun training we've been promising them." Shane leaned forward, looking past you and toward Rick.

But Hershel didn't back down from what he apparently had told both Rick and Shane already. "I'd prefer you not carrying guns on my property. We've managed so far without turning this into an armed camp."

"All due respect," Shane fired back in an instant, shaking his head, "you get a crowd of those things wandering in here—"

"Look, we're guests here," Rick started and silenced him, then looked at Hershel again. "This is your property, and we will respect that." Before he even continued, he pulled his Colt Python revolver from the holster and placed it on the hood of the truck.

Shane hesitated, then did the same with his pistol.

"First things first," Rick then said. "Set camp. Find Sophia."

Finally, you cleared your throat. "We'll find her," you said. "We're not giving up."

Shane shot you a quick look but nodded. "Right... But I hate to be the one to ask," he said further, "but somebody's got to. What happens if we find her and she's bitten? I think we should all be clear on how we handle that."

"You do what has to be done." Rick's answer came with no hesitation.

Maggie looked up, her gaze switching from him to Shane. "And her mother? What do you tell her?"

"The truth," Andrea suddenly answered flatly, but that was about it.

Shane took a step back from the truck. "I'll gather and secure all the weapons. Make sure no one's carrying till we're at a practice range off-site. I do request one rifleman on the lookout. Dale's got experience."

"Our people would feel safer, less inclined to carry a gun," Rick told Hershel again, who finally gave him a thoughtful nod in return.

"That stuff you brought… Got more antibiotics, bandages, anything like that?"

But as the conversation turned toward medical supplies, Daryl grunted and moved away from the group. Just like that. You didn't hesitate—your feet were already moving after him as he walked in the direction of his tent like he'd never been part of the conversation at all.

"Hey!" You called out, running a little. "Wait up."

He didn't turn, but he didn't speed up either. That was about as much of an invitation as you were ever going to get from Daryl Dixon.

You caught up to him just as he was about to kneel down, grabbing some more bolts for his crossbow and a knife. "The hell ya followin' me for?" He asked, not even looking up.

"I want to go with you," you answered. "I can help."

But Daryl snorted. Actually snorted. Like you'd just offered to fix his engine with a wrench and no knowledge at all when it comes to motorcycles.

"Go back to playin' nurse for the kid," he answered. "Ain't draggin' yer ass out there just so ya can trip over yer own damn self and die."

You blinked. "Okay, Daryl. How about you try to not act like a dick?"

"Ain't got no time for that."

You moved closer, squinting against the sun as you stared him down. "Listen, I'm not stupid. I can handle myself. If something happens, then you're there to help. And I would help you in return."

That finally made him look back at you with narrowed eyes… all blue and pissed. "Ya got a death wish, that it? Go wanderin' out there like a dumbass; gonna end up just like that lil' girl."

"That little girl is the whole reason we're out here in the first place!" You snapped at him, gesturing around. "You think you're the only one who cares? The only one who can search for Sophia?"

Daryl stood back up. But in the same way as when he was trying not to punch something. "Ain't 'bout what ya can do. 'S what ya shouldn't be doin'."

You were breathing hard, just as he turned away. "Don't follow me," he added, before turning and stomping off across the field and toward the tree line.

Without thinking, you walked after him again.

"Daryl, wait!" You called, grabbing for his shoulder as he reached the edge of the field.

He turned around like he'd been attacked, shrugging you off. His elbow hit you hard enough to surprise you and enough to hurt, making you stumble back a step.

"Don't ya touch me!"

You stared at him with wide eyes. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Daryl looked you up and down like you were a problem he didn't have the time to fix. "Nothin' wrong with me. I ain't the one out here goin' after people who told 'em no."

"That's just because you're being such a stubborn asshole, Daryl!"

He laughed, mean and without amusement. "Oh, ain't that rich, comin' from a bitch wearin' her goddamn perfume and pink nail polish—hair all shiny, clothes all clean! Ya ain't shit."

That answer felt like a slap in the face for you. "You don't know anything about me, Daryl. Don't talk about me like that." Blinking hard with a slightly trembling lip, you realized too late that he noticed it.

"I only want to help!" You quickly continued to shout. "You think I'm useless? I'm trying! I care. Isn't that what matters? God, you're such a bastard! Do you really think I'm some helpless little—"

"Yeah, I do," he growled at you, his voice dropping lower and sounding meaner. "Ya don't belong out there. Hell, ya don't even belong out here! Yer like some damn doll that—"

"Why do you even care then?" You shouted back into his face. "If I'm so pathetic, why not let me get eaten?"

Daryl stopped talking in an instant until his voice sounded normal again… unbothered. "Don't care. Just don't wanna have to be the one cleanin' up what's left when the walkers're done with ya."

The silence that followed? All you could listen to was your pulse, which was pounding in your ears.

Daryl turned his back to you again—like he couldn't even stand to look at you—and finally walked off without another word, his crossbow hanging over one shoulder, going far from everyone, like he wanted it. Like he wanted to be.

You stayed where you were, jaw clenched, breathing fast. You weren't crying. Not really. But you wanted to. Just then someone stopped beside you, and you looked up to find Glenn.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I… just talked with Daryl," you answered, brushing your palms off on your clothes, trying to get the little shaking to stop.

Glenn let out a sigh and gave you a look. One of those typical looks—worried, a little amused, and very much not buying your bullshit.

"He always that much of an asshole to you?"

You let out a bitter laugh. "Pretty much. Guess I bring out the worst in him."

"I've noticed it already, believe me," Glenn responded. "As if... you walk near him and the guy forgets how to be a human being."

"He literally shoved me," you grumbled, more to yourself than to him. "Like, right now. And hard. Then told me I was useless and that I don't belong out here."

"Jesus…" Glenn blinked, shaking his head.

"Right? I ask to help, and he treats me like I'm the goddamn problem."

"Yeah, that tracks," Glenn answered dryly with a smirk. "That's what he does. Gets annoyed and acts like a dick to scare everyone away. Very much emotionally mature."

You snorted as if to laugh about it. But in reality? It hurt a little bit.

"He doesn't scare me," you answered. "He simply pisses me off."

"I think that's the same thing for him. Look, just give him some space. That man's got more walls than Fort Knox. But if you ever want to talk about it, I've got some time."

"Well, thanks for that. I mean it," you smiled weakly as Glenn started walking beside you, back toward the farmhouse. You glanced over your shoulder toward the trees where Daryl had disappeared. No sign of him. Was he already gone and looking for Sophia? You didn't know. And right now, you couldn't care less about Daryl Dixon.

But once you focused on what was in front of you, you saw her just before you reached your tent—Carol, standing off to the side, arms wrapped around herself like if she let go, she would cry. Her eyes were on the tree line, searching a forest for explanations that never answered any questions. She was waiting.

Waiting for a daughter who might already be dead.

You froze and felt it all at once—shame, guilt, helplessness. You'd been arguing around instead of helping, just because Daryl thought you were useless. But what were you actually doing to help?

What were any of you doing, really?

By the time you reached your tent, your mind was already made up. You waited until everyone had calmed down, until everyone was busy with any task they were able to keep themselves occupied with, and until Rick disappeared inside the farmhouse to look after Carl.

No one was watching. Not now, at last.

Grabbing the knife that Shane had sharpened for you a few days ago, you slipped it into your belt. It wasn't much. But it'd have to do. Not leaving a note behind, you just disappeared into the woods before you could talk yourself out of it.

Keeping to the trail you found at first, the knife gripped tight in your hand, your eyes were looking toward every rustle of leaves and creak of branches.

It wasn't brave. It was stupid. You knew that. But you didn't care. You had to do something to help. Anything.

Time passed as you walked, maybe an hour, maybe more. You weren't sure. The muscles in your legs ached, and sweat slid down your back, sticky and wet beneath your shirt. But you kept going. Eventually, you saw it. A clearing. An old house made out of wood and forgotten, with windows that looked long broken. It was something. Maybe it was a place a scared little girl might hide in.

You approached carefully, your heart immediately starting to beat faster. Each step seemed louder than it should've been. The door creaked when you pushed it open, and you winced, raising your knife. Nothing moved.

Good.

Inside, the place smelled like mold and animal piss. You gagged but forced yourself to step in, eyes scanning everything. There was a broken-down couch, a couple of empty cans on the floor—sardines, maybe?—and a hallway leading deeper into the house.

You moved slowly, your breathing as quiet as it could be. The floor creaked beneath you, and every move sounded way too loud in the silence. A few steps further into the nearest room, you saw it—something that looked like a tiny, makeshift bed in a closet.

Could've been Sophia.

Could've been… But after searching through the whole place, you came to the realization that it was indeed empty.

Stepping outside again, you blinked against the sun, squinting at the ground. That's when you saw them—white flowers, growing wild near the tree line. Cherokee roses.

You remembered these roses. The history lessons in school about the Trail of Tears, how the Cherokee people were forced out of their native land, and how the mothers of the Cherokee were grieving and crying so much that they were unable to help their children survive the journey. You couldn't help but crouch down to take a closer look.

But that was your mistake.

Something snapped beneath your foot. Not loud. But you fell forward fast, your ankle twisting itself hard to the side as your foot caught a rock buried in the grass. Your knee slammed down on another, and pain tore through your leg, making you forget that your head hit the ground as well. Crying out, you tried to catch yourself, but your arm hit something jagged. Wood? Rusted metal? You didn't know and didn't have time to find out.

Either way, it cut deep. A long, deep cut inside your forearm, bleeding quickly and not stopping.

You swore, grabbing it, gasping as the pain started to be felt. Your ankle wasn't broken, but it throbbed as you tried to stand back up, only to fail. The second your weight shifted, your knees buckled and you hit the ground again.

"Shit," you hissed out as quietly as possible. "Shit, shit, shit!"

You looked around—trees, grass, endless nothing. No one was coming. No one even knew you were gone.

The blood wasn't gushing, but it didn't stop either, making your heart race faster than it should've, and the heat of the sun made everything spin.

This was bad.

It felt bad. Not walker-bite bad, not definitely dead bad, but you'd hit your head a little too hard when you fell, and the pain behind your eyes was pulsing now, pounding even. A concussion? Maybe.

But worst of all—you were alone. Out here. No backup. No plan.

You hadn't found Sophia.

You hadn't found anything.

All you had found were the Cherokee roses that blurred by now in front of your eyes like your brain couldn't quite hold the shape. You blinked, but the flower didn't sharpen. Everything was spinning. The trees swayed too hard. Your arm throbbed in time with your heartbeat, and your ankle had gone numb, like your body gave up trying to feel it anymore.

The grass was warm under your back. That should've comforted you, right?

And then the memories started coming back out of nowhere. They came slowly, like a fever dream.

The firelight. The sound of crickets. The quarry just outside Atlanta, back when everything still felt new, when walkers were the worst of your problems, and Daryl Dixon was just some loudmouth redneck with a brother twice as bad.

You'd never forget the first real day around them. It had been a good day. At least at first. You'd just bathed down there, using some lotion afterward you'd scavenged from a motel, along with a broken brush that barely held together as you came back with damp hair and a pink towel around your body.

The shampoo you'd used? It was strawberry-scented, the cheap kind, but it made your hair all soft and shiny. You'd taken an extra five minutes to wash it out in the water, humming to yourself, just trying to feel clean for five seconds. You even wanted to wear one of the sundresses you'd taken with you, thinking, stupidly, maybe you'd feel safe again and that this whole pandemic would be over soon.

What a joke.

Then you remembered walking up to the fire, smiling, towel around your shoulders. The way Jim gave you a nod. How Dale smiled like he was just happy someone still knew what lotion was.

You remembered Merle's laugh next. Harsh. Mean. "Well lookit that," he'd snorted, loud enough for the whole camp to hear. "Miss Georgia's right here in the end times. Whatcha doin', girl? Waitin' on Prince fuckin' Charming, or you plannin' to start a fuckin' show out here for me, sugartits? Do you think some walker's gonna fuck your pretty lil' ass? Shit, don't even need them damn dresses you always wearin', I can give ya a damn good time without 'em."

You'd tried to ignore him. Dried your hair by the fire, doing your best not to just run away when he got closer.

And Daryl? He hadn't stopped Merle. He'd just joined in like he hated what he was looking at. "Ya really bringin' that kinda shit out here? She really tryin' to get a walker to fuck her ‘fore it eats her."

You'd looked up. Said nothing.

And then Daryl had spat. Not near you. On you. A glob of spit that hit your leg.

"Dumb bitch. Still ain't got nothin' worth keepin' alive."

He hadn't even looked at you when he said it. Like you weren't even worth the eye contact. After that, you didn't eat with the others for days. But you tried to stay useful. Stayed quiet.

Even now, lying here in the grass, while some of the blood dried on your arm, your head pounding, the memory hurt.

Not just because it had been painful. Not because it was mean. Because part of you had believed them.

You knew that you weren't a fighter. You were just… you. Still using cosmetics and having a heartbeat too slow to keep up with a world that was dying around you so fast.

And Daryl? He'd known it. He'd seen it. He still saw it.

And that look in his eyes when he shoved you away—like just being near you made him weak? That wasn't anything new.

You didn't cry. Not back then. You just got up and left to go into your tent, telling yourself over and over that you wouldn't let it show.

And now you were bleeding out next to a flower instead of finding Sophia for Carol—Carol, who was grieving and strong in all the right ways—and you were still that girl with the strawberry shampoo, trying to prove you mattered before the end of the world would kill you anyway.

Maybe Merle and Daryl were right all along. Maybe you weren't worth saving.

Even now. No. Especially now. Half-conscious, with blood running down your arm and your stomach wanting you to throw up from the pain, the realization hit you hard.

You weren't one of them. You were just decoration. A joke. Useless. Always useless.

The last thing you saw before your eyelids felt too heavy was that stupid white flower, moving just slightly in the warm wind of the Georgia sun, like it was just here, waiting and watching you die in silence.

Back at the farm, Daryl yanked his crossbow into place, holding the strap over his shoulder a bit tighter when he prepared to go into the woods to continue his search for Sophia. He had been gone, yes, but he hadn't continued his search for the little girl and was only now about to leave.

Just before Rick's voice stopped him.

"Daryl. You okay on your own?" He asked.

"'M better on my own."

Rick nodded like he already knew the answer. "We got a base now. We can get this search properly organized."

Daryl narrowed his eyes. "Ya got a point, or we just chattin'?"

"My point is it lets you off the hook. You don't owe us anything."

"My other plans fell through." And then Daryl turned without waiting for a reply.

Soon enough, the farm disappeared out of view behind him. Out there, it was quieter. No bullshit. No looks. No whispers. Just nature, animals, and the walkers.

Daryl followed a trail he had seen earlier, retracing old steps, ducking under branches, and stepping over logs. He kept his eyes low, scanning. Looking for tracks. A footprint. Any kind of hint he could find.

It was nearly an hour later when the house came into view.

That old abandoned building, half-eaten by time. He approached it slowly before he entered a place that felt like it still remembered the people who'd lived here once. Crossbow raised, he stepped in and moved from room to room. The first one? Empty. Except for an old can of sardines on the counter, peeled open. Recent.

Someone had been here.

He kept going. Into the hallway, past a bathroom, and into another room with a closet door half-ajar. Inside was a makeshift bed. Small. Like someone had curled up and hoped to disappear.

"Sophia!" Daryl called out, not loud, but clear. No answer. No hope, either… Giving up after he made sure the house was completely empty, he stepped outside again, squinting his eyes in the sunlight. That's when he saw it. The flowers.

Cherokee roses.

Moving slowly toward them to take a closer look, his gaze dropped just before he wanted to kneel down—and that's when his eyes widened.

You were lying there.

Blood all over one of your arms and your side. One foot was at an angle that wasn't looking quite right. Eyes closed. Lips pale.

Daryl didn't move at first and only stared. Like maybe it wasn't real. Maybe if he blinked, you would disappear and he could go back to pretending you didn't matter. But you didn't go away.

"God fuckin' dammit…"

His knees hit the ground as he dropped beside you before he grabbed your wrist first—rushed and too tight—but he needed to feel a pulse. It was there. Weak, but there. You were breathing, but shallowly.

"Shit," he hissed as soon as he saw the deep and long cut along your arm next, yanking a half-clean rug from his pocket and pressing it to your skin where the blood was coming out. "Stupid. Stupid goddamn—what the hell were ya thinkin'!"

Unable to answer, your head lolled to the side. Daryl pressed harder, trying to stop the bleeding.

"This what ya wanted?" He continued to yell at you, even though you couldn't hear him. He looked down at your face—smudged with dirt and sweat—and for half a second, he felt something like guilt. But it was gone before he could name it.

"Stupid girl," he grumbled again, but it sounded different now. Quieter.

Grabbing your other arm and pulling it across his shoulders, he lifted your body with a grunt. You were dead weight—not conscious, not responsive—but he got you up, holding you awkwardly against his side like you weighed nothing.

"I swear t'God, if ya don't die, 'm gonna kill ya, bring ya back, n' kill ya m'self again! Fuck!"

And then Daryl started walking. Back through the woods, back toward the farm, his jaw clenched, his face looking pissed, cursing the whole way like that would keep the anger away from him. Every step moved your body a bit, and every little noise you made had him tightening his grip.

You didn't remember much of the trip back. Just the Georgia heat and some motion above your head, all the while every breath was a fight. But Daryl remembered every step of the way.

His arms were on fire, his muscles burning by the time the farm came into view. Some of your blood had soaked through his clothes, clinging to his shirt and skin. The rug tied around your arm was doing a piss-poor job at stopping the bleeding, and you weren't doing much at all—not even mumbling like he had hoped you would do after some time.

Rick was now on the porch of the farmhouse, talking to Hershel about something—medicine, rations, or safety probably—when he caught sight of Daryl coming out of the tree line with you in his arms.

His eyes went wide. "What the hell… Daryl!"

"She's hurt," Daryl snapped, stomping past him. "Went out on her own. Found her like this, bleedin' near some old-ass house."

"What happened?" Andrea gasped, running up to him, while Lori covered her mouth with both hands as she got out of the house to see what was going on.

"Get outta my damn way!" Daryl barked, heading up the porch.

"There's no room," Hershel immediately answered, stopping Daryl from walking into his home. "Carl's still inside."

"Then where the hell do I put her?"

"The RV," T-Dog cut in, looking at Dale for his approval.

Dale didn't argue and rushed to open the RV door while Daryl climbed the steps. He moved quickly, lowering you gently onto the couch, and Hershel was following with some of his medical equipment the second Daryl took a step back.

"Let me see. She's lost quite some blood. Probably a mild concussion. I need some time."

Daryl backed off only because he had to, watching with his arms crossed and lips tight while Hershel cut the rag from your arm and cleaned the cut. It wasn't fatal. Deep, long, painful, yes, but you were lucky. Soon, Hershel said something about shock and rest and stitches. But Daryl still just stared at your face. Pale. Eyelids still closed. Lips dry. And all he could do was stand there and watch.

That night, the camp outside the farmhouse was rather quiet. Everyone from the group went to their tents as the time passed by. Glenn sat on the steps of the RV for a while like he was guarding you, but eventually even he wandered off. Daryl had waited. He was now behind the RV, chain-smoking cigarettes like it would give him a better excuse for the nervousness he was feeling.

He hated this. He hated you. No, that wasn't right. He hated how you made him feel like this. Like he gave a shit. Like he'd never forgive himself if you died. It was past midnight when he stepped back in. The RV door creaked a little as it opened, and for once, he flinched at the sound. You were still there on the couch, with a bandaged arm, and still as death.

Kneeling beside you and staring at the bandage, he imagined how many stitches on your arm there might be before he started talking.

"Y'know, I was gonna leave ya out there," he smirked. "Saw yer dumb fuckin' ass lyin' in the grass and thought, ‘Good. Serves that bitch right.'"

He suddenly sniffed and wiped his nose on his arm. "But I ain't done that."

Looking up at you—your sleeping face—his eyes went to look down to your lips. Just a breath away. Daryl leaned in slowly, like even gravity didn't want to push him too fast. But when his nose nearly touched yours, he stopped and pulled back with shaking hands and a dry mouth.

"Bet ya'd punch me if ya knew." His own words made him smile.

"'N I bet ya still got some fight left. Ya always been fightin' my damn brother away. Ya remember back at the quarry?" He continued. "Me 'n Merle… we used to—fuck, we were assholes. Used to think ya were the dumbest damn slut—girl—I ever met."

Daryl laughed again, shaking his head. "Painted nails. Lil' pink bag full o' crap. Lip stuff. Glitter lotion or some shit. Whatever the fuck that was. Dunno. Shit… who the hell wears glitter durin' the damn end of the world?"

His voice cracked, but he ignored it. "Ya were always tryin' to make things pretty. That damn girly shit. Ya got a whole damn bag of soaps and creams and fuckin'... ribbons. And what did I do? I spit more 'n once on ya and yer shit, remember that? Said it was useless. Said ya were useless."

He looked away, huffing, only to look down. "Fuck… Ya always kept all o' yer things clean. Yer tent. Yer hair. Yer hands. Made the rest o' us look like fuckin' trash. Not good 'nough for ya."

Daryl paused, inhaling deeply and breathing out slowly, making sure no one was coming to look at how you were doing. "That deer I brought in? When Rick joined? Got it for ya. Was fuckin' mad at ya that day, ‘cause ya smiled at Shane or Glenn or—fuck, I dunno why it bothered me, it just… did."

He then pulled something from his pocket—a dirty little bottle of rose-scented hand cream. "Ya had one of these once, 'fore the CDC blew up," he grumbled, setting it down on the little table beside you. "Said it reminded ya of home. Heard ya talkin' 'bout it with Lori. I told ya it was useless bullshit. Made fun of ya for it while I was wasted."

He swallowed hard but then continued to talk to you while you were sleeping. "I went back to that damn pharmacy for it 'fore I went lookin' for Sophia. Saw it on the damn map 'fore ya asked me to come along. Wanted to slip it in yer stuff when ya ain't lookin'. Did that more than once. Soap, too. That fancy coconut or vanilla shit."

He dragged a hand over his face. "'S my fault that ya almost… Yeah, mine. Shouldn't have gone to that damn pharmacy. Could've kept yer damn ass safe."

His throat felt tight. Everything ached. All his muscles were tense by now, burning with shame and guilt. "Dunno what this bullshit is. I ain't never had nothin' good. But if ya died out there…" He stopped, swallowing hard, as hard as it was even possible. "I think I'd lose my goddamn mind..."

The second the words left Daryl's mouth, he flinched again. Saying such things out loud hurt worse than any injury ever could. "Ya always tried to make me feel like I ain't just shit. Like I ain't just Merle's dumbass brother and a fuckin' problem. Like maybe I'm... I dunno. Somethin'."

His forehead dropped to the edge of the couch, hiding his face. Half a sob, half a curse, Daryl shuddered like a storm was rushing through him, one that refused to stop letting him drown.

And then you moved. A groan. Maybe a whisper. But he heard it, and his head shot up. You weren't awake. Not fully. Still out cold, or so it seemed. But your mouth had moved, you had talked; Daryl was sure of it.

Another groan from you—uncertain, half-conscious.

"Fuck this," he suddenly snapped, taking the bottle and grabbing for the door handle of the RV. "Fuckin' idiot! 'M such a fuckin' idiot…"

But he didn't go far, especially since he made sure no one was nearby who might notice him. No, Daryl just sat in the dirt by one of the RV wheels, with his head leaning back against it, his teeth biting into the palm of his hand to keep himself from crying.

Soon enough, the days passed, not many—but enough for the bleeding to stop and for the bruises on your skin to start turning all sorts of ugly. Your arm was stitched up, the muscle still pulling every time you moved. It stung like a bitch. And you weren't allowed to use it much, which meant you spent most of your days lying and sitting around in Dale's RV.

Rick had stopped by more than once to see how you were doing. Lori brought soup that tasted like water and, well, just water, really. And Maggie came around sometimes with Glenn, but that was about it. It got a little easier to move your arm, eventually. Easier to breathe, too, without feeling your head spin. The farm was quiet most of the time—birds, sounds from the horses here and there, and the distant sound of shots, since Rick and Shane had started to teach how to shoot.

You started making short walks around the farm. Then to the field. Then the house.

Still, you hadn't seen him again. Daryl was nowhere to be found anymore. But T-Dog found you instead when you were leaning on the fence one afternoon, holding your arm like it might fall off if you didn't. You weren't crying, but damn if it didn't feel like you could if someone even breathed too loud.

"Doing okay?" He asked, jogging over, but you just shrugged in return.

"I guess."

"Don't push it too fast. That kinda cut, it's no joke," he nodded toward your arm and held out his own. "Guess we're some kinda twins now, huh? Same side as yours."

You managed to give him a small smile in return. "You're not still hurting?"

"Oh, I'm hurting, alright. Just not bleeding on people anymore and leaving a trail of blood for the walkers to follow."

You glanced at him, almost laughing. "Yeah. I remember your accident, too. On the highway. I've never seen so many walkers at once."

"Shit, yeah. I sliced my arm open trying to get outta the way of one of them. Thought I was done for."

Your eyes narrowed as you thought back. Back to the walkers. Back to the ways every single one of you had tried to hide from the danger. "You know… I never asked, but how'd you even get out?"

T-Dog looked at you, a little sideways, like maybe he wasn't sure if you were serious. "You don't know?"

You shook your head slowly. "No. How should I know? I was up in the RV with Andrea. It was bad enough with that one damn walker in there and next to her in such a small place. But thanks to Dale, we're still alive... So? How did you make it?"

He laughed, but it sounded more like a huff. "Daryl. He's the one who saved my ass. White boy came up to me outta nowhere and covered me and him under walkers. We lay there under those dead bodies. Didn't even move."

"Wait, wait—Daryl Dixon?"

"Yeah." He scratched the back of his neck. "Wasn't what I expected either. I mean, remember Merle? That guy was a full-blown asshole. And I figured Daryl was just like him, you know? All that racist, hillbilly shit? But he didn't even hesitate. Saved my life."

"But… I also thought he was like Merle. In fact, I'm pretty much sure he is just like Merle."

"So did I," T-Dog admitted again. "Still not sure sometimes. But I guess he's loyal. Just doesn't know how to act loyal without being a real dick about it at the same time."

"Yeah… Sounds about right."

Watching how you turned a bit away from him, T-Dog took a step back, not wanting to make you uncomfortable. "You don't think he gives a damn about you, do you?"

"Why would he?" You asked dryly, shrugging your shoulders. "He's hated me since they'd arrived at the quarry. Said I was useless. Spit at me. Mocked me for every… well, every 'girly' thing I still owned. Stuff I still own."

"But he carried you back," T-Dog answered quietly. "Didn't stop to ask, didn't wait for help. He found you and moved. That's Daryl."

You looked down at your hand, flexing your fingers slowly. The wound on your arm still ached. But this time, it didn't feel like what hurt the most. You didn't say anything else in response at first. Just looked back out toward the tree line, where the wind had started blowing just slightly.

"But I'm so sure that he hates me. You just don't treat someone you don't hate the way he treats me."

T-Dog looked at you for another moment, then shrugged as well. "Could be. Or maybe he just doesn't know how to act loyal. Loyalty doesn't always come with manners."

You huffed at that. "He didn't even stop by. Not once. And I've been stuck in that RV for days. That man does not give a damn, believe me, T."

"'Cause he doesn't do ‘checking in.' Dude's probably sitting alone somewhere, thinking too hard and pretending not to give a shit."

"Think I should go and thank him?" You asked, biting the inside of your cheek and laughing quietly.

T-Dog snorted in response. "If you can find him. It doesn't hurt to say thank you, especially if you don't care about how a man like Dixon might react."

His words made you think. Daryl had saved T-Dog. Daryl had saved you. And yeah, maybe he was a dick about it. Maybe he said mean things and looked at you like you were pathetic. But you also remembered this tiny, stupid stuff you found in your bag that you thought was from Jacqui or Amy before they'd died—cute little comforts that you couldn't even imagine may have been from someone like him.

Soap. Lip balm. A tiny comb. A little pink lighter that still worked…

Thinking back to these many things that had magically appeared in your belongings, the sun was starting to go down when you finally worked up the nerve to find Daryl. You'd been pacing near the RV restlessly for half an hour, or longer, chewing your lip, thinking of a hundred different ways to start a conversation, and hating every single one of your ideas.

Why'd you carry me back?

You chose the most neutral thing you could come up with: Ask him why. Casually. Like it means nothing.

You spotted Daryl's tent now much further from the rest of the group, like he couldn't stand the sound of humans for longer than ten minutes. He was sitting outside, sharpening the blade of a knife with that same pissed-off expression he always had when someone approached him.

You stood there for a second, watching Daryl from a few feet away, just long enough for him to notice you. But he didn't look up.

"Lost?" He then asked, still dragging the knife along whatever he used for sharpening it.

"No," you answered, stepping closer. "I was looking for you."

"Well, ya found me. Congratulations."

"I just wanted to ask you something," you swallowed hard. This was a mistake, for sure. But it was too late now.

Daryl didn't answer you, waiting for you to speak, and just kept sharpening. So you pressed further and finally asked the question. "Why'd you bring me back?"

He stopped moving, but then he scoffed. "Was out lookin' for the lil' girl. Found a body bleedin' in the grass. Figured I'd put it over my shoulder and be done with it."

"You're saying you didn't even know it was me at first?"

He looked up now, finally, and his eyes were cold. "'M sayin' it wouldn't have mattered shit. Just don't need 'nother walker out there. Woulda put a bolt in yer head if—"

You flinched, and he saw it. Of course, he did. "Hell, shoulda just left ya there. Woulda saved me a helluva walk, too."

You blinked hard. From anger, not from tears. Not this time. "Why are you like this, Daryl?"

"Like what?" He smirked at first, scoffing quietly.

"This… cruel."

Daryl's smirk was gone fast, and, putting his knife aside, he finally stood up. "I ain't cruel, woman. 'M honest. World's gone to shit, and ya still walk 'round like yer a fuckin' princess. Maybe if ya stopped worryin' 'bout bubble baths and started learnin' how to not get yerself sliced open, ya wouldn't need any damn carryin'."

Staring at him for another moment, not saying anything, not giving him the satisfaction, you just turned and walked off. You didn't run. You didn't cry. You didn't say another word. Just walked. Wanting to leave him to rot with whatever broken part of a soul made him push kindness away if it disgusted him this much.

Again, the hours passed quietly, like the world was trying to pretend it was peaceful. In the meantime, you had cleaned up as best you could. Maggie had brought you food. Glenn had made a dumb joke that almost made you smile. Almost. You went to your tent later, rubbing near the itchy spots on your arm where the stitches were pulling a little too tight. Dropping to your knees, you unzipped the flap, reached for your bag… and froze.

There, on top of your stuff, was lip gloss. Not the lip balm you always used, but the exact kind of lip gloss you'd run out of weeks ago. Next to it? A tiny bottle of rose-scented hand cream, a little dirty, but still sealed. And a small bar of soap, wrapped in light purple wax paper with floral patterns on it. Lavender. And so much more... And next to it all?

A white Cherokee rose. No note. No explanation. Just there.

No one else would've thought to bring you that kind of stuff. You were sure of it by now as you sat back. Hell, most of the group didn't even know when some of your things were empty to begin with. Nor did any of them know that you were bleeding out right next to a Cherokee rose bush. Except one. The same man who'd told you to your face that he should've left you to die.

Touching the edge of the rose gently, you laughed. A bitter, breathless, and choked laugh. "Asshole..."

You sat there on your knees in silence, with your heart beating harder than it had during the walker horde on the highway. But what you felt at that moment? It was fury. And it was the kind of fury you hadn't let yourself feel in a while. Maybe ever.

You gathered the things carefully but not tenderly. All of them, even the flower, with hands that wouldn't stop shaking. Then you stood up, walking back out of your tent. Daryl was still where you left him. He was leaning over a small fire now, poking it. His crossbow leaned next to a log, untouched, and he didn't look up when you approached. Typical.

But he didn't have to. He felt you coming.

"You think I'm fucking stupid?"

Daryl flinched at your words, but his eyes stayed fixed on the flames.

"You think I wouldn't notice? The things you put into my shit? The gloss, the balm, the shampoo, the soaps, the stupid-ass lighter with the pink rhinestones? Oh! There's so much more!"

Now he looked up with narrowed eyes. "I told ya, I—"

"No! No," you cut him off, stepping forward. "Don't do that! You got me these things. You went out of your way. Hell, you got me the exact same hand cream I told Lori about, didn't you? Smells like roses!"

You kept going like your voice just had to be heard for once. "I'm not stupid. I'm not blind. But you want to treat me like I'm some idiotic little girl who can't survive without her glitter and her goddamn bubblegum lip gloss, right? Like I'm just some waste of fucking space!"

Daryl scowled. "Ain't never said—"

"You didn't have to," you snapped back. "You made sure I knew!Every single day! You spit on my things, Daryl. On me! You called me useless! You mocked everything I had left before the world ended. Everything that reminded me I was still a fucking human being!"

"I ain't done that—"

"You did! And now you brought me back? But you won't look me in the eye? You won't talk to me? You don't even admit it, you damn coward!"

"Ain't got no time to explain, woman."

"Bull-fucking-shit, Daryl Dixon," you hissed. "You owe me an explanation! Not for carrying me. For this."

You stared down at all the things in your hands. Then, slowly, you raised one of them. "You wanna know what this is?" You asked quietly, while Daryl didn't answer. So you threw it at his chest.

"It smells like lavender… and feels like shame on my skin."

You threw the next one—the lip gloss. "This one's pity, right?"

Another bottle, this time aimed at his shoulder. He flinched when the hand balm hit him. "This one's your hate… and my guilt. Smells good, doesn't it?"

You threw the last—a tiny little mirror—and it cracked when it hit the ground near his feet. "And this one, Daryl? This one's not even from you, but it's my reminder that when I look in the mirror now, I hate what I see. Because every time I see my face, I hear your voice calling me useless."

He flinched again, breathing faster now. "I never meant—"

"You never meant to?" You cut him off, shouting at him. "Stop! You meant every word you ever said to me; you just didn't expect me to remember them all!"

His hands curled into fists, and he stopped poking the fire. "Ain't done it for ya."

"Really?" You asked back. "Then who was it for? Your fucking idiot brother, Merle? Amy? Andrea? Jacqui? Lori? Carol? Yeah, right! Fuck that!"

He got up and stepped forward suddenly, with an angry expression on his face. "Don't talk 'bout shit ya don't understand."

"Oh, I understand plenty," you shot back, not moving an inch. "I understand that you only know how to hurt people who give a damn. I understand that you are scared as fuck of someone giving a shit about your sorry ass!"

Daryl pointed at you, stepping closer. "Ya don't know anythin' 'bout me."

"Oh, I know enough! I know that you'd rather make a girl cry than admit you were scared when you saw her bleeding out."

"Shut up," he growled, his voice cracking.

But you didn't. You leaned in, close, your nose almost touching his. "You don't hate me... You hate that I make such a pathetic being like you feel like a person. Human."

Daryl pushed you roughly away from him. Not enough to knock you down. But enough to get your attention. "Ya don't know shit! I carried ya back ‘cause I didn't want 'nother fuckin' dead body walkin' 'round here! 'S it!"

"Liar!" You spat, throwing the last thing he got you without even looking at what it was, almost hitting his head. "You carried me back because if I died out there, you would've had to admit you cared!"

"Ya don't get to say that! Ya don't get to decide why I do shit, 'n ya don't know what I—"

"You liked watching me bleed out, didn't you?" You then continued, your face turning red in anger. "Made you feel strong, didn't it? Because a girl like me needing a man like you meant you weren't nothing for once in your pathetic life!"

Dead quiet, Daryl stepped back. And the expression on his face? It was pain, rage, and shame, all at once. "Don't fuckin' say that," he whispered.

But it was too late.

"What, does it hurt?" You scoffed, your eyes still cold. "Good! Do you know what else hurts? Lying in the woods bleeding to death, thinking the man you thought was cute at first, but who actually hates your ass to death, is the last person you'll ever listen to! Wishing you'd actually died instead of having to face him ever again! You know what? I fucking liked you, Daryl. God help me, I fucking liked you, for real. And you made me feel like shit for it."

Daryl didn't look up… He couldn't.

"Stupid fucking redneck. Giving me this shit like it means anything."

"'CAUSE I AIN'T NOTHIN'!" He suddenly shouted, with his fists gripping at his hair like he could rip his thoughts out. "'S ME WHO AIN'T SHIT!"

Daryl sank down on his knees, both hands still on his head, gasping wildly, rocking back and forth, back and forth. "SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP!"

His voice broke off, and he started hitting his head with the side of his fists. Once. Twice. More and more. He did not stop until he felt dizzy. You blinked in shock, your heart pounding in your ears. That wasn't the Daryl you knew. This wasn't even the Daryl you hated. And it made time seem as if it stopped.

"W-why do you hate me?" You whispered carefully. "What did I ever do to you?"

"I didn't know how else to do it!" He shouted, his voice cracking hard. "Ya want words? I ain't got the damn words! I don't—" He broke off, breathing fast, dragging his hands down his face.

You didn't respond.

"I got ya that bullshit 'cause ya fuckin' liked it! 'Cause it made yer stupid ass smile! And I—I dunno—I thought maybe if ya smiled at me for one goddamn time 'stead of—!"

He sniffed loudly. Like he wanted to cry or just say something nasty, but nothing came out. Only a tiny, broken inhale. All you could do was stare, but this time? It was still shock and confusion. "God, I'm such a dumb bitch… Shit…"

You started to turn, just a little bit, ready to go somewhere and scream at yourself for what you've done—but movement stopped you. Daryl reached out. Clumsy, almost afraid to touch all of it, he picked up the lip balm first. Cracked now, dirt stuck to the side. Then the mirror. The bar of soap. The hand cream. One by one, he gathered all of it together.

You paused, arms crossed, trying not to care. Trying. Then you saw it. A single, tiny tear landed on the hand cream as he held it in his palm, the tremble in his hands impossible not to notice. He stared at it for a long moment, sobbing as quietly to himself as possible. Then he looked up. Not at you. Toward you. And he stretched out both arms, holding the little pile of things in his big, strong hands. No words. Just his eyes that were all wet and looking hopeless, like he was offering up what little was left of himself.

"Take it back…" Daryl sobbed. "I… I didn't mean to… I dunno why—"

His voice cracked again. He looked like he wanted to die. And with a deep breath, you stepped back in his direction, shaking your head. He kept staring at the stuff in his hands, his voice dropping even lower, like he hated every word coming out of his mouth.

"I don't hate ya! Just… didn't wanna care," he sobbed, and you swallowed hard. "But… ya just kept bein' all… you."

You blinked several times in a row.

"I thought… if ya hated me, then it wouldn't matter if ya left one day—if ya died... And ya weren't s'posed to be pretty and smell like fuckin' strawberries or whatever and look at me like I was anythin' other than white trash! Ya weren't s'posed to matter!"

By now, you were crouched down right in front of him. "But you were mean," you then whispered. "You hurt me, Daryl…"

He nodded slowly. "I know."

"And I almost died thinking you hated me…"

Daryl finally looked up. His eyes were red as he looked into yours. "I didn't—I didn't mean for that to happen."

"I-I know," you cut in, your voice now trembling slightly too. And then, finally, your hands reached out. You touched Daryl's cheek first, your thumb sliding along his jaw before you cupped his face, making him shudder.

"I ain't good," he whispered. "Don't talk right. Say shit I don't mean. I fuck everythin' up. And I—" His breath hitched. "I jus' wanted ya to… not die."

You saw it again. The pain. The way his mouth opened like he had something—everything—to say and didn't know how. And that was when you put a soft kiss on his forehead as you pulled him close.

Daryl made a tiny broken sound before his brain caught up, and he immediately panicked. "Don't," he gasped. "Don't do that. Don't… don't pretend!"

He looked scared when you didn't answer. But you just wrapped your arms around him and held him tight. Like you were trying to hold the broken parts of him back together with just your touch. Daryl's face pressed to your neck, his hands suddenly gripping your back like you might be gone if he opened his eyes again. You felt it—the trembling, hearing the sobs, feeling the way he pressed into you.

"M'sorry," he whispered into your shoulder. "M'sorry. I didn't mean it. I-I swear, I just…"

You didn't need an explanation. You just held him tighter. Let him feel you. Let him know you weren't going anywhere, even if his whole body desperately tried its best to relax against you. His breath hitched differently now. The sobs turned a little quieter. Less panic. More need. Not pulling away, you saw it now. All of it.

The little boy who never got love. The man who thought hatred would keep him safe.

How much time passed by wasn't on your mind as you knelt there with Daryl for a while, letting him fall apart into your arms, until the shaking slowed and the wet sobs against your skin turned completely quiet. When Daryl finally let go of you, there was this dazed look in his eyes. Like he'd forgotten where he was or who he even was.

"Come on," you then said gently, just loud enough for him to hear. But Daryl didn't move. So you pulled gently at his hand and helped him up, patiently, and as fast as he wanted to move again. He followed you without a word, stumbling a little, his head low as you helped him back into his tent before he sat down without any words on his sleeping bag.

In the meantime, you reached for the stuff he'd gotten you—picking it all back up off the ground, since he'd let it fall into the grass once you'd put your arms around him, and brought it with you. Daryl didn't even look up when you left all of a sudden; he still sat there.

Once back in your own tent, you moved as fast as possible. Wipes. Lotion. Some clean water in a bottle. A small towel. The flannel shirt you always wore on warmer nights that was way too big for you. You carried it all back in your arms.

Stepping inside Daryl's tent and kneeling down in front of him, he glanced up, confused and wide-eyed.

"I ain't…" He started, his voice shaking. "I don't want—"

"Quiet," you answered gently, pressing a finger to his lips. "You don't have to want anything right now. But you need. Listen, just sit there, alright? Let me."

You took the wipes first, pulling one from the pack and warming it a little bit between your hands. Then, slowly and carefully, you wiped the dirt and tears from Daryl's face. His mouth trembled when you touched him, his lips twitching like he might say something—but he didn't. He just let you clean him. Quiet and shaking ever so slightly.

"I ain't clean," he then said, almost ashamed. "M'dirty…"

"No," you whispered with a small smile. "You're not."

Soon enough, you worked your way down his arms, wiping off dirt and sweat and the faint bits of blood that were still left on his skin. Then his hands—his big, rough hands, all calloused, but still trembling. You took your time there. Between each finger. The back of his palms. His wrists.

Daryl watched you in silence, but when you started pulling at the hem of his shirt, he finally flinched, and his eyes were going wide again. "What're ya doin'?"

"Just going to clean you up proper," you answered softly. "It's just a shirt. Relax."

He looked like he wanted to say no. Like he wanted to grab it and yank it back down. But something in him broke a little more, and he let you pull it over his head, only to turn away from you as if in shame. And that's when you saw them. The scars. Not all of them, since he wasn't fully turned away from you, but what you saw was enough to notice how deep and all over the place they were. Scars that shouldn't have been there across his back.

Daryl panicked the second he realized what you were seeing and tried to back away. "Don't—don't fuckin' look at that, a'ight? Ain't nothin'! Nothin' ya gotta—fuck, just—just leave!"

But you didn't pull away as you reached for the small towel and the water bottle you brought with you, opening it to clean him a little more. "Who did this to you, Daryl?"

"Don't matter," he grumbled, arms now crossed tight across his chest. "Ain't yer damn problem."

You leaned forward, arms wrapping around him from the side, your chest pressed to his biceps. "It is my problem," you whispered. "You are."

Placing the towel over his shoulders after you were done drying him off, you grabbed the lotion next. You rubbed it slowly over his arms, his shoulders, and his hands, all the while he sat frozen and looking confused, like it was the first time someone had touched him without hurting him.

"You smell like me now," you smiled, but he just sat there, swallowing hard, breathing shakily.

You reached out and touched his shoulder gently. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna ask."

"Yeah, 'cause ya don't even—"

"I'm not gonna ask," you said again. "You don't have to tell me anything, Daryl. But I'm not going to pretend I didn't see it. And I'm also not going to pretend it changes anything."

He turned fast. Wild-eyed. "Ya don't needa pretend nothin'. Yer—yer tryin' to be nice or some shit. Ya don't—"

Not finishing what he wanted to say, Daryl stared at you once more, his chest rising and falling fast. His mouth was open like he wanted to scream or cry but didn't know which one would save him.

Using the moment, you reached for the flannel now. "Arms up..."

He blinked in confusion, maybe wondering why you were still here, which made you smirk. "Come on now, Daryl. I'm not leaving you sitting around shirtless."

He let out a weak, stunned huff but lifted his arms, watching as you slipped the flannel over his head and let it fall around his body, the sleeves way too short for him.

Then, slowly, you reached for his face. "Look at me."

He did as you held his chin, caressing it. "You don't have to be an asshole around me, Daryl. You don't have to yell. Or lie."

All he responded with was a nod in return.

"You want me to stay?"

Another nod.

And you didn't try to pull back. You just stayed there, kneeling in front of him, one hand still on his face, the other soon resting over his chest where his heart felt like it was trying to beat out through his ribs. He looked at you like he didn't get it. Like he was still waiting for the trap.

"You wanna lie down?" You asked eventually, voice soft, but he hesitated until he gave the tiniest nod again.

So you laid down first, letting your side press down on the sleeping bag before you patted the spot in front of you. "Come here."

Daryl snorted, but it came out cracked, sounding more ashamed than mean. "Shit. Ain't never—"

"Now's a good time to start."

He grumbled under his breath but crawled toward you anyway, arms stiff, not really knowing how to be held. Like it was something that needed instructions.

You wrapped your arms around him from behind, pulled him in close, and let your body press to his. His back pushed against your chest, all tensed up and full of confusion, still waiting for some kind of rejection that wasn't even coming. His hands stayed awkwardly near his chest, and his shoulders trembled now and then like he still hadn't run out of tears but just didn't have the strength to let them fall anymore.

"You're shaking," you whispered, holding him a little tighter.

"M'fine..."

"Nope. You're not."

Daryl didn't continue arguing. You pulled the sides of the sleeping bag up over both of you and put your face into the crook of his neck, letting your breath warm his skin there.

He was quiet for a while, and you didn't rush him, since after some time, he finally spoke up again. "Why ya always been like that?"

"Like what?"

He hesitated again. "Weird, I guess? N'... y'know. Just girly. With all them lil' bottles n' fuckin'... soaps n' shit. Creams or whatever all that stuff is ya usin'."

You snorted against the back of his shoulder and kissed the skin there, which made him squirm. "Is that such a big problem for you?"

"Nah, I just... I don't get it. Ain't never made sense. Ya know... world's gone to fuckin' hell, n' ya still put on lotion as if it matters."

"Well, it matters to me," you laughed in response.

"Why?"

You held him a little tighter. "Because it's who I am. I've always been that way. Even before the world ended, I guess. It's what makes me feel human. Like I'm still me. Not just some scared girl trying to survive."

Daryl was quiet again until he whispered. "'N why the hell would a girl like—" He started but cut himself off. "Don't need someone smilin' at me."

"Daryl."

He didn't answer, so you let your hand glide over his side. "You're the first person that ever made me feel safe back at the quarry. Shane always seemed so… impulsive. The others? Well, no one really fought like you did. I'm not saying the rest of the group can't keep us safe, but when that walker got that deer you were hunting down? Made me realize you knew more about survival than everyone else. You were the first one to point out that we need to destroy their brains. You were the first one, the only one, really, who knew how to hunt. It seemed so… natural. Not because you're big or strong or scary—though, let's be real, you kinda are—but because you see people. You look after them. Even when you act like an asshole."

He huffed out a grunt, his shoulders relaxing a little more.

"You gave me those things," you continued softly. "Little things. Stupid things. A flower. A bar of soap. So many things… So you cared. Even if I didn't know at first."

He didn't answer you, but his hand found yours, holding it tight against his chest.

"And yeah, you're… you. Sometimes a bit rude. But now I think that—" You didn't talk about it further, just pressed another kiss to the back of his neck, softer this time. "You don't have to understand it. Not all at once. But I really do likeyou. I liked you right from the start. I just didn't smile at you because… well, you know how you were acting around me."

His grip on your hand loosened, and you felt him slowly, finally, letting out a deep breath. Like he'd been holding that breath since Atlanta. And you stayed like that. Daryl didn't say anything else, but his breathing slowed after a while, sounding calmer, until he fell asleep like that, in your arms.

Like a broken, little boy who'd never been held in someone's arms for the sake of it.

And when you were sure Daryl was out, you slowly, so slowly, moved yourself away from him, pressing one last kiss to the side of his face and putting the sleeping bag tighter around him. He grumbled something in his sleep. A quiet sound where you couldn't make out what he was saying. But it didn't matter what exactly he said when you gathered your stuff back together and stepped out of his tent again. At least you knew he was feeling safe for now.

The next day when you were back on your feet, you weren't thinking too hard about the night before. Making yourself as useful as possible, you tried to help the rest of the group as best as you could in the morning.

Lori handed you a knife while Carl ran around the farm, finally able to move after he'd been out for days after the incident, and already having more energy than he should've had after being shot. But hey, Hershel worked miracles. The kid was back to running around as if nothing ever happened.

"Don't let him wear you out," Lori said with a wide smile, wiping her hands on a towel. "He'll run circles around you until you get dizzy."

You snorted. "That's what I'm afraid of. And I think he's already making my head spin. But, you know, he's feeling like a kid again for once; that matters the most, especially with everything going on…"

Carl then ran up beside you, holding out a deflated ball to play with. "Wanna play catch real quick?"

"Only if you go easy on me," you answered, pointing to your arm. "Doctor's orders."

"Deal!" He grinned and ran back a few feet, while Lori chopped onions beside the fire. For a moment, it all felt so… normal. Almost like something from the before-times—morning air still chilling and not too hot, smells of wood and watery coffee in the air, people waking up, stretching, and starting their day.

And soon enough, you noticed him from the corner of your eye before you heard him—always the quiet one.

Daryl.

He was walking in from the tree line, his crossbow as always with him. Same sweat-drenched skin while walking around in the sun, the same scowl that was more habit than emotion. But he didn't look your way, and you didn't call out, since Carl had already started playing with you. Still, you couldn't help but watch him walk toward the RV before returning your attention to the kid.

Meanwhile, Daryl pushed open the RV door. He'd been avoiding Carol for a while now—not because he didn't give a shit, but because he didn't know how to. What was he supposed to say? "Sorry yer kid's missin'? 'M still searchin'?" That didn't help anyone.

But he had remembered the roses that bloomed in the woods. Right there, where you had been bleeding near the house, like they were waiting for him again. He'd stared at them for a full minute before pulling one out of the dirt and shoving it into an old beer bottle he found.

He felt stupid carrying it back. Felt even more stupid walking up the steps of the RV, holding it. But he did it anyway.

Inside the RV, Carol was cleaning everything, trying to distract herself from the emptiness that was eating her up from the inside out. "I cleaned up," she said without looking at him. "Wanted it to be nice for her."

Daryl glanced around. "For a second I thought I was in the wrong place." He set the beer bottle with the rose down on the little table.

She finally turned. Her eyes looked at it, then back at him. "A flower?"

"'S a Cherokee rose." He sighed. "The story is that when American soldiers were movin' Indians off their land on the Trail of Tears, the Cherokee mothers were grievin' and cryin' so much 'cause they were losin' their little ones along the way from exposure, disease, and starvation. A lot of 'em just disappeared."

Carol froze but continued to listen to Daryl. "So the elders, they said a prayer, asked for a sign to uplift the mothers' spirits, and give 'em strength and hope. The next day this rose started to grow right where the mothers' tears fell. I ain't fool 'nough to think there's any flowers bloomin' for my brother. But I believe this one bloomed for yer little girl."

Her eyes filled up with tears, but she shrugged it off with a laugh.

"She's gonna really like it in here," he added, nodding once. Then he turned away and stepped back outside.

But Daryl didn't head straight back to his tent. Not right away. Instead, he stopped near one of the fences, where he could see you, even though he'd made up his mind to head out again soon.

You were laughing, tossing a ball, even if your movements were stiff, and Carl almost fell when he caught it. Lori said something, probably about food or ordering Carl to be more careful. But you, you looked...alive.

Still pretty. Still you. Still 'girly n' shit,' with your beautiful hair and your clean clothes and that voice that didn't sound like anyone else's.

Daryl could still feel your hands on his skin; that damn flannel shirt still smelled like you, which he carefully left in his tent.

Raising a hand without thinking, he waved a little. Awkwardly. But you looked up and smiled at him. Really smiled. And that's when Daryl's face turned red and he damn near panicked. He dropped his hand, spun around, and stormed off toward his tent like he hadn't just spent a few hours walking through the woods while secretly hoping to see you at the end of it.

Meanwhile, Lori leaned over, grinning a little confused. "What was that about?"

"Long story," you answered, shaking your head.

Lori raised her eyebrows but didn't push any further when you turned your attention back to Carl.

"Alright," you challenged him. "Last round. The loser has to eat a whole onion raw!"

But every now and then, your eyes looked toward the tree line again, right where Daryl had disappeared again. You'd be checking on him later. And as time passed, it was safe to say that you barely saw him all day. He was nowhere to be found. Not that you were watching or anything—okay, maybe you did want to look after him. Still, you weren't about to start jogging all over the Greene's property, but damn if your eyes didn't automatically look to every movement of the trees, every corner of the farm, every second someone from the group came walking out of the woods or was near you.

Still, Daryl was just... gone.

And it wasn't like you to worry—not in the clingy, 'where's my man?' kind of way, but after last night, after everything he let you see, the way he sobbed in your arms like a hurt little boy, the way he clung to you like he'd drown otherwise? It didn't sit right with you that he could disappear so easily, like none of it ever happened.

By the time it was afternoon, you finally gave in and went looking.

Finding Glenn near the stable while Maggie stood at one of the stalls and stroked one of the horses, you heard them talking, laughing about something.

"Hey," you called as you approached. "Have either of you seen Daryl? I saw that he left again, but he's still not back."

Glenn tilted his head. "Yeah, earlier, when we came back. He asked me about the town where the pharmacy is. The one Maggie and I hit."

You nodded slowly, a little confused. "But doesn't he already know where it is? Did he say why?"

Glenn shrugged. "Said he was going scavenging again. But probably still looking for Sophia too. Guess that takes some time."

You tried not to let the disappointment show on your face. Of course, he went alone. Again.

Meanwhile, Glenn narrowed his eyes a little. "Why, are you still trying to go thank him for saving your life or for ruining it a bit more?"

"Wow. What a joke, Glenn. Maybe I just miss his charming personality," you snorted, rolling your eyes.

Maggie laughed, and Glenn wanted to answer, but your mind was already somewhere else, and your feet followed those thoughts soon after—back down the way to Dale's RV.

You stepped up into the RV with the intention of grabbing a weapon. Not a big one. Just something small enough to carry, big enough to keep you from getting attacked by a walker if you crossed paths with one. A pistol. A knife. Both.

But the second you turned and went back outside…

"Where do you think you're goin'?"

You froze. Shane was leaning up against the RV, arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowed just enough to let you know he'd been waiting and watching.

"Just walking around, looking, watching," you lied flatly.

He stared at you with a smirk, shaking his head. "Don't look like walkin'. Looks like you were grabbin' a gun."

"Maybe I wanted to do both," you grumbled. "Feels safer."

"What's goin' on?" Rick's voice stopped you from behind Shane, who still didn't move.

"My bet? She was about to head out on her own."

Rick frowned, stepping closer, looking at you like he already knew he wasn't going to like the answer. "Is that true?"

"I just wanted to check out that town Glenn and Maggie went to. That's all."

Rick sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You're still not fully healed. You know how dangerous it is out there. Especially alone."

Shane was shaking his head. "What he said. Not happenin'. Not alone."

"It wasn't up for debate," you argued back. "And it still isn't up for debate. I can handle myself just fine."

"Well, now it is," Shane answered. "You're not goin'. Period."

And just like that, they were walking off, leaving you alone. But Lori showed up not even a minute later, carrying a basket and looking somewhat amused.

"Okay," she started. "What's going on this time?"

You let out a deep breath, staring at the spot where Rick and Shane just stood. "I wanted to go look for Daryl, but no, of course, the only two cops that are still alive around Atlanta stopped me from doing so."

She stopped mid-step, but without answering you, so you glanced at her. "What?"

But Lori just smiled. Not in a mean way—just a knowing one. "I'm sure he's fine," she said gently. "Come help me with the eggs, okay?"

"The chicken coop? Eggs? Really?"

"Yeah. Besides, you've got to keep your hands busy before you go out and annoy both Rick and Shane at once. Believe me, you don't want that."

You followed her, grumbling, "Not a bad idea, actually..."

"Oh, by the way," Lori added casually as you reached the coop. "Daryl actually called me Olive Oyl."

You turned your head in confusion as you crouched down. "Wait, what?"

She smirked, crouching down by one of the nests as well. "I called him selfish. He called me Olive Oyl. You figure out what that means…"

You stared at her, half confused, half in thought, and she just tossed you a couple of eggs like she wasn't just out here admitting something to you, but you weren't really sure what she meant.

Hours passed again.

Chickens were settled, dinner was halfway done, and, as always, everyone kept themselves as busy as possible.

You were wiping your hands on a towel near the porch of Hershel's farmhouse when Lori nudged you with her elbow. "Look," she said softly, nodding her head toward the tree line.

You turned. And there he was. Daryl. Finally.

He came walking out of the woods, a bag slung over one shoulder. No blood. No obvious injuries. No anger in his walk. Just calm and relaxed, like he hadn't just ghosted you the entire day. And without even looking over to the farmhouse or at the group, he walked straight to his tent and disappeared as if nothing ever happened.

But you knew that it would soon be late enough where no one would pay attention. No one would notice if you moved away during the night. And if Rick or Shane would notice? You somehow counted on Lori to have your back.

You caught sight of Daryl before you made it to him—sitting outside his tent with his back turned, searching through that bag he probably found in that small town nearby like he was checking it for something. And you could see how stiff his shoulders were, even from a distance.

Hesitating for a second, you then decided to walk over to him as quietly as you could manage in hopes of not scaring him off, your hands curled into fists like the pressure might help with the sudden nervousness you felt out of nowhere.

Being close enough after a while, you could see the fumbling of his fingers and the new bits of dirt beneath his nails. You reached out, one hand raised and your fingers stretched, just about to tap his shoulder—and the second your hand made contact?

Daryl moved fast. Too fast.

Before you could even yelp, he had you pushed on your back in the grass, one foot pressing down by your hip, the other leg straddling your thighs. His forearm came down hard near your neck, not on it, but close enough that you knew—if he'd wanted to hurt you, really hurt you, or even worse—he could've.

His other fist was in the air, ready to punch. And then he saw you. Stunned. Taken aback. Breathing hard and trying to cough beneath him.

Daryl's mouth fell open the second he realized it was you. Shock and horror were written all over his face, his eyes quickly looking around, as if unsure what part of your face they should focus on, and his fist dropped instantly.

"Shit! Shit! Fuck," he stammered, pulling back but not quite getting off you. "I ain't—fuck—I didn't know! I thought—hell, I ain't mean—shit! Shit!"

You reached up before he would freak out completely, both hands finding his face. Your thumbs slid along his cheekbones, and he flinched like you'd hit him. But you didn't say a word. You simply lifted yourself as best as possible and kissed his forehead like you'd done before—slow, soft, waiting for him to calm down. You felt the panic slip out of him in shaky breaths, his body relaxing against yours, until you pulled back and wrapped your arms around him.

Daryl didn't say anything. For quite a while, he simply let you hug him, his forehead dropping against your shoulder like he wasn't sure he deserved it.

Eventually, he crawled off you completely and helped you up, grumbling a bunch of apologies—and curses—as he did. You could barely make them out. He was red in the face, not just from embarrassment but from shame.

Brushing your palms off, you followed his eyes to the open bag beside his tent. Whatever was in there had fallen out in the heat of the moment—some canned food, a bottle of water, some medicine he'd found, a few hygiene things that looked suspiciously like they'd been taken from a women's section—and then, carefully folded underneath it all, was a dress.

Pink. With ribbons. Not over-the-top, but definitely... you. Your size. Your style.

"Well," you said with a smirk, stepping closer and crouching beside the bag. "What's this?"

Daryl went stiff. "I—ain't—look, I didn't mean nothin' by it," he answered fast, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand like he wanted to disappear into the ground. "Was just... y'know, ya still like all that stuff, an' I saw it hangin' there all clean-like, figured it'd maybe... I dunno... ya still like that kinda shit, right? Thought maybe ya'd... wear it. Or somethin'. Ain't mean nothin' by it, just saw it, figured it was dumb, but it made me think'a ya, and—fuck…"

"It's not stupid," you said, cutting him off gently, but he looked at you like he couldn't quite believe you meant it.

You picked up the dress carefully with your hands, held it against your chest, and spun a little around as if you were modeling for him. "You got the size right. And it's got some ribbons as well... You really have been paying attention, huh? To everything."

His head was so red by now you thought it might explode on the spot.

"I like it," you continued, more quietly this time, not wanting to push him too much. "A lot."

Daryl swallowed so hard it was almost audible, his eyes looking at the dress, then to your face, then immediately away again. "Y'do?"

You nodded.

"Yer so fuckin' weird," he responded, but it sounded like a joke. No anger behind it.

"Guess I am," you answered with a smirk. "And I guess you like weird girls who wear pink dresses and make you sleep like a baby when they hold you."

Daryl opened his mouth to argue for a second, then shut it again. Stepping toward him and sliding a hand into his hair, brushing through it gently, you watched how his eyes shut close at the contact. He was so touch-starved it somehow hurt to see.

"Ya, uh... ya gonna go back to yer tent now?"

You tilted your head in confusion at his sudden question. "Why? Do you want me to leave?"

Daryl shrugged a little, rubbing the back of his neck once more. "Just... Y'know. 'S gettin' cold and all."

"Daryl? It's warm. I won't freeze to death." Shaking your head, you held back a smile. "Are you asking me to stay?"

He huffed a breath and gave a helpless little nod of his head, not looking at you. "Yeah, yeah, right… But… Ain't askin'. Just… Would be okay if ya did, s'all."

Quickly taking a step back, you leaned down to put all the things that had fallen out of his bag back into it, picking it up and holding it out to him until he took it. Finding his other hand, you then put it into yours.

"I'll stay."

Daryl followed behind in silence as you slipped inside his tent without any hesitation, with him throwing the bag into one corner of the tent as fast as he could. Inside, it was dark, but not pitch black—the moon gave you just enough light to see everything—the sleeping bag, his gear, and the flannel shirt you'd given him that smelled like you, lying right next to where some improvised pillow was lying on the ground.

You turned toward him, still holding his big, calloused hand in yours. His fingers twitched like he wasn't sure if he was supposed to let go or tighten his grip.

"So," you said softly, smiling at him. "We sleeping or what?"

Daryl shrugged, his eyes switching from you to the sleeping bag like the situation was somehow too complicated for his brain to process. "Yeah," he grumbled, "guess so."

He sat down awkwardly first, then lay back, giving the sleeping bag a few rough pats like that was going to magically make it more comfortable. You crawled right beside Daryl and turned your back to him instinctively, expecting him to just sort of… get it.

But Daryl didn't move an inch.

Peeking over your shoulder, he just grunted at you, clearly ashamed and confused, but finally slid closer next to you. He lay on his side behind you, arms straight at his sides like he was getting ready for a casket instead of cuddles.

You waited. And waited…

Finally, you sighed and reached behind you, grabbing his wrist and putting his hand over your waist.

Daryl went rigid. Completely tensed up and unsure. So you laughed to yourself and wiggled back into him until his chest was pressed against your back and his big, strong arm rested across your stomach.

"Do you still not know how spooning works, Dixon?"

Still awkward. Still stiff.

"What, this?" He scoffed. "Ain't nothin' to it."

But his voice cracked just a little, and you could feel the hesitation in the way he touched you. Careful. Nervous, even. But you didn't push him. You just covered his hand with yours and rubbed your thumb over his knuckles.

Daryl's breathing slowed eventually. You felt his nose against the back of your head, his fingers twitching now and then against your side, and soon, your body relaxed too, feeling his chest rising and falling behind your back.

You felt safe, stupidly so, when you dozed off like that. And it might've been an hour later when you felt it.

A little movement. Barely there, at first. Just the press of his hips rougher against you, and then again.

And again.

You blinked awake slowly, still a little bit sleepy. And then it hit you.

He was hard. Really hard. And he was—shit, he was humping you in his sleep.

Not fully. Not aggressively. But enough that you could feel the drag of his cock against your ass, big and hard, right through his pants, softly grinding, lazy and slow, as if he didn't even know he was doing it.

You smirked to yourself, eyes still half closed, not daring to move just yet.

Holy shit, that man was packing.

With your thighs clenching a little without even wanting them to do so, you didn't even need to see it to know. You could feel it. How thick he was. How the head of his cock pressed against you when he moved like he was grinding in a daze, with no idea you were wide awake by now.

You bit your lip at the realization of it all—Daryl Dixon, quietly, accidentally dry-humping you in his sleep as if he was desperate and didn't know how to ask for what he wanted.

Holding your breath, you tried not to giggle—because laughing would wake him up, and waking him up might ruin the moment. Or worse, embarrass the hell out of him. But shit, the way his hips rolled was so slow and lazy… His body was dreaming of something he'd never admit to wanting.

Another sigh left his lips. This one was more like a whimper. And that's when your thighs clenched for real. You pressed your lips together, closing your eyes. You couldn't help it. Couldn't stop your hand from drifting down to rest on his again. The one he still had on your waist.

Daryl's fingers twitched. He reacted. Shit, was he waking up?

"Mhm..." He mumbled. Not a word. Just a sound. And he moved again, a little more this time, his cock pressing harder against your ass, making your breath hitch.

The longer it went on, the hotter it got—him so unknowingly needy, and you, getting wet from the feel of it, every roll of his hips pressing that thick, aching cock against you like it just needed somewhere to go.

Daryl let out another soft sound behind you. Not a groan. Just a broken sigh that made you swallow hard and your pussy throb.

You could wake him up. You could turn around. You could grab his jaw, kiss him just like that, and show him what to do next. Or you could wait a few more seconds and see just how far that sleepy little grind of his was going to go.

And Daryl kept it going, his hips rocking ever so gently, pressing himself against your ass like he was in a different world entirely—a fantasy, a dream—where he got to have this. You. Where it was okay to want.

And oh, how he wanted you. You could also hear it by now, the way his breath hitched just a little more each time he moved. Louder. Another soft whimper barely made it past his lips. You wondered if he even knew he was making those little sounds and if he'd hate himself for them in the morning.

Shifting slowly, you let your thighs part just a little. Not enough to be obvious—just enough to feel him better. You let his hand go, moving back with your own until your fingertips brushed over the side of his thigh. He jerked, only a twitch, like his body felt the touch even if he wasn't awake yet.

Then, quietly, carefully, you rolled over to face him, feeling how his strong arm slipped off your waist. His brow was furrowed just a little, his lips parted, almost looking innocent. And maybe he really was.

Reaching up, you couldn't help but let your thumb touch his bottom lip softly, parting his mouth a little more.

And then, you kissed him. Only one deep kiss.

Poor Daryl had no idea. Or maybe he did and just couldn't help himself. But then you slid your tongue along his lips. That was the moment he stopped moving entirely, and you didn't have to look to know he was wide awake now.

Still, you froze for a second. So did Daryl.

Then he pulled back in an instant, realizing what kind of situation he was in. "Shit! I… fuck! What—?"

"I noticed," you whispered and gave him a loving smile in response. "And I simply kissed you in return."

He opened his mouth, like maybe he had something to say, maybe an apology, maybe an excuse, but you beat him to it. Crawling toward him, you quickly pushed him back down to keep him from escaping you, straddling him.

Daryl's face turned a shade of red you didn't think possible for a man who spent all day out in the sun. "I—I didn't know I was—fuck, I didn't mean nothin' by it! I wasn't…"

You caught one of his hands and wrapped your fingers around his. "It's okay," you said, your thumb stroking his knuckles gently. "Was kinda cute, actually."

He made a strangled noise like he couldn't decide whether to groan or storm out of his tent as fast as possible. "Cute?" He asked, clearly offended by the word.

"Yeah… You heard me," you answered, sliding your hand down between your bodies until your palm pressed against the hard outline of his cock.

Daryl didn't know what to say anymore, but he didn't stop you either.

So you kissed him again, with just enough pressure to make him gasp. You felt the way his mouth opened for you, the way he stopped breathing, so you let your hand continue to move against his cock ever so slowly, and when it moved over the thick tip of it, he choked out a sound that damn near made you moan in return.

"Jesus," he groaned, letting his head fall back with his eyes squeezed shut.

Taking the opportunity, you leaned forward and kissed his jaw and his neck, nipping gently at his skin.

He was already so fucking hard…

"Shit," he hissed through clenched teeth like the word had been ripped out of him.

"What?" You smiled against him. "You literally hump me in your sleep and then act like you don't want it when you're awake?"

He made another strangled sound, somewhere between a grunt and a moan this time, his face turning deep red. "I wasn't—I didn't!"

Daryl's eyes looked into yours, wild and wide, and then lower, down your body.

"Yeah, you did," you smirked, pulling back a little, not wanting to overwhelm him. "You just didn't know I'd let you. Now..."

Making yourself comfortable to straddle him tighter, you pulled your shirt up and over your head, slow enough to make your point clear. His eyes never left your skin—staring at every inch like it was something new, something forbidden. Your bra came off next.

And Daryl looked like he forgot how to breathe. His jaw dropped, his tongue wetting his lips so fast he didn't even realize he was doing it, his eyes fixed on your tits like he was terrified to blink, and his hands twitched at his sides.

You tilted your head and grinned. "Are you going to touch or do you want to stare all night?"

Swallowing hard and not wanting to refuse, one hand came up trembling, like he was expecting you to slap it away, but then he stopped halfway.

"Daryl... I'm letting you. Just try and touch me."

That certainly helped. His fingers moved up your waist first, cautiously, like he needed to warm up to the idea. Then, slowly—so goddamn slowly—he brought his hand up to your chest.

And fuck, the look on his face… As if he'd never seen a naked woman in his life and wasn't sure if he was hallucinating or about to die from it.

Daryl's palm cupped one of your tits with doubt, but also hunger, like he wanted to devour them but was too scared he'd hurt you if he squeezed too hard.

He didn't even squeeze. He held.

But when you gasped—when your back arched a little more and your mouth dropped open in a silent moan—then he started to touch, kneading gently, his thumb brushing over your nipple, where he didn't even realize what he was doing until you shivered from it.

His eyes looked up to yours, panic on his face, thinking maybe that noise meant he did it wrong.

Reassuring him, you shook your head, smiling gently. "That was good, baby. Don't stop."

Daryl didn't. He kept touching. You could see the way his jaw clenched, see the tense muscles in his neck, and feel the way his cock twitched hard beneath you in an attempt to hold himself back from thrusting up against you.

Leaning down, you let your tits rub across his chest up to his face, just enough to tease, and kissed the corner of his mouth.

Daryl whimpered. He whimpered, the poor thing…

You could feel the tremble in his thighs now, his hand still clinging to your tit with a look that said he was afraid you'd change your mind. But his fingers tightened further, wanting to make himself believe that your sounds weren't even pity, but want. Real want.

"Do you want to come for me, Daryl?"

His hips bucked up without permission, and his breath hitched again at your words, all the while you kept your hand on him—pressing and sliding your palm over the bulge in his pants, feeling how hard he was, but still trying to hold himself together, which was getting harder with every second that passed.

"I, uh," he stuttered, almost too quiet to hear. His eyes went shut when your fingers squeezed just the tip of his cock through his pants out of nowhere. "F-fuck—don't… don't... PLEASE."

You bit back a grin. There it was.

His hips bucked up once again, just a little, trying to get you to touch him some more. It was obvious that his body didn't care that he had no real idea what he was doing—it wanted more of you.

Leaning in close, you let your tongue lick over his parted lips. "You sound like you're begging for it, you know..."

Daryl's eyes snapped open at your words.

Wide. Confused. Embarrassed.

You watched the realization hit him—watched him remember what sounds came out of his throat. His mouth was still open, attempting to take it back, maybe deny it—but nothing came out. Only another moan. By now, he was all whimpers and stutters and fuck-me eyes.

You laughed softly, rolling your hips against his thigh. "Didn't even realize, huh? You're just so damn worked up you don't know what you're saying anymore."

Tilting your head, you pressed another soft kiss to the corner of his mouth before dragging your lips along his jaw. "You never had someone make you feel like this before, Daryl?"

"N-no…"

"Mhm," you smiled against his skin. "I didn't think so."

Daryl whimpered again, and you felt his cock twitch under your palm.

You leaned closer, letting your breath tickle his ear, whispering. "Does your dick get hard like this for just anybody, sweetheart?"

His head turned to the side with the expression of someone who was more than just ashamed.

"I'm gonna touch you for real, Daryl," you whispered, not moving your hand further for now. "And you're going to be good and let me. You're going to say ‘thank you,' too… like a sweet little boy who listens."

"I…"

"You what?"

"I… thanks," he stammered, hardly able to say it out loud.

"Good boy. All the while you're begging for it without even meaning to."

His hips jerked up again—uselessly on instinct—and he made the softest sound you'd ever listened to in your life. Was it a sob? You weren't sure with his fingers still on your tits and him looking too stunned to do anything.

"Oh, baby…" You smirked, pretending to be all sweet and kind while grinding down against his thigh. "You want it that bad?"

Daryl nodded. Just a tiny, helpless nod—but he meant it.

You sat back some more, sliding your hand from his cock up to the button of his pants, but didn't open it. Not now. Reaching up, you started to open the buttons of his own flannel shirt instead, one by one, only to kiss your way to the middle of his chest. One kiss. Then another. Then lower, sliding your lips and tongue down to his stomach.

He was panting now, his chest rising and falling wildly, his other hand twitching like he didn't know where to put it. "Please," he whispered. It slipped out quietly. But you heard it. Hell, you felt it.

"Please?" You asked, not stopping your trail of kisses down to the skin just above the waistband of his pants. "Please, what? Tell me."

"Dunno," he whimpered, almost desperate. "Just, just—don't leave."

You couldn't help but giggle at his words, kissing his skin just above his belly button. "Don't worry, Daryl. I won't leave, and believe me, I'll tell you what to do."

He blinked down at you, looking like he'd agree to anything if you just kept touching him like this.

As soon as you got off, kneeling down beside him, you grabbed his jaw. "Lay back onto the sleeping bag."

He obeyed immediately, lying down flat on his back and breathing like he'd run for miles, his eyes looking from your face to your tits and back again.

You straddled him again, slowly, getting comfortable like you had all the time in the world. "Wanna suck on my tits now?"

His mouth dropped open at your question. No sound came out. Just an overwhelmed, shaky cough. Suddenly cupping your own tit in your hand, you gave it a light squeeze, then brushed your thumb over your nipple, watching how Daryl's eyes followed the movement of your finger.

"How many times do I have to tell you? I'm letting you, Daryl," you whispered. "Come on. You can do that. Be a good boy for me and do as I say."

Daryl nodded slowly, pushing himself up on his elbows and thinking he might still be dreaming of a fantasy. A fantasy he's had since the first time he saw you at the quarry outside of Atlanta. But he already knew it back then… how you'd become his undoing.

You guided him gently, making yourself comfortable next to him now, and arched a little closer so he didn't have to reach far. He stared for one more second—just one—and then leaned in. Awkwardly so. His mouth was unsure at first, with quivering lips brushing over your nipple that didn't quite know what was allowed and what was not.

So you sighed and put your fingers into his hair, caressing the back of his head. "Open that pretty mouth, sweetheart."

Daryl obeyed. You brought your nipple to his mouth and watched him. Watched him take it in, his lips wrapping around it as if he was scared. "That's it," you whispered. "Suck."

He did. Carefully at first—then with more confidence when your hand returned to his hair, guiding him. His tongue flicked over your nipple, his lips sucking gently, then harder when he heard you moan. You felt the way his cock throbbed beneath your thigh, how he was still so hard it probably hurt—but he didn't ask for anything. Didn't even grind up to feel more. He just sucked. Sweet. Quietly. Needy.

"You're doing so good right now," you whispered, letting him take the other nipple into his mouth next, his tongue moving with more urgency now. "Look how well you listen."

Daryl whined again but never stopped. By the time you looked down at him again, his lips were shiny, and his cock was leaking so much precum that his pants were dark and soaked through a little.

But you let him continue to explore your tits as long as he wanted to—slow little licks, then sucking gently, then sucking harder when he was sure you liked it as much as he did. One of his hands came back up too, holding your tit, trying to memorize the feel of it while he kept going, switching sides when your hand in his hair pulled it a little.

And all the while, he kept making those noises. Not words. Just quiet, breathy sounds. Whimpers. Moans. Every now and then, a broken little 'fuck' or 'shit,' wanting to try and hide that he couldn't really handle it. Pulling back after a while, only enough to see his face, you smiled down at him.

Daryl only blinked at you, so you kissed his temple. "Do you realize how sweet you are? I bet I could make you come like this. Just from sucking on my tits."

That made his hips buck again. And the noise that came out of him? Practically a whine. You knew it now—knew Daryl. How desperate he was. How careful. And you could tell that he was already close. Only from this. The thought alone turned you on.

You couldn't help but press your knee between his legs to tease him a little and to feel it—that cock throbbing against you, for you, and still aching. Poor boy was losing it, and you hadn't even taken his pants off yet.

Reaching down slowly, you let your fingers tease the skin near the waistband, making him shiver. Daryl froze for a moment like he was trying not to run away. But he didn't stop you, even though he was still fighting with himself. You worked his button open, then, patiently, pulled the zipper down just enough to slip your hand into it. His breath hitched when you brushed over the front of his boxers. So warm. So hard. Fuck, he felt like steel, and he throbbed so wildly under your hand when you barely even touched him.

"You're so cute," you whispered, letting your lips kiss his jaw as your hand started moving over his cock. "So sweet…"

Daryl moaned—not even loud enough, really, making it sound like a broken whimper. He looked down between you with disbelief in his eyes. It was clear no one had ever touched him that way before. And he wasn't even able to concentrate on touching you as well when you teased him for a while through his boxers.

Long strokes. Nothing fast. And enough to keep him on edge.

Watching him being this close so easily felt almost unfair.

"Don't," he whined all of a sudden. "I—I can't!"

"You can, believe me," you hushed him softly, watching him hide his face out of embarrassment, but you could still hear every broken little noise that left him. Then you slid your hand down, right inside his boxers.

Trembling and barely able to hold himself together, he gave you a shocked gasp when your fingers wrapped around his cock. His body betrayed him, wanting more before his mind could even catch up.

"You poor thing." You said, kissing his neck. "I hope that didn't hurt?"

Daryl didn't answer. He couldn't. His hand had grabbed part of the sleeping bag, eyes shut tight when you started to move your hand—once. Just a pump. Twice. Again. Watching the way he reacted to every single one. He couldn't stop shaking. Couldn't stop gasping.

"Already this wet and leaking," you smirked, feeling the precum dripping down along his shaft. "It's quite impressive how much you're trying to be good."

"Please…" He then sobbed, and you looked up at him. That red face. Those quivering lips. His pleading eyes.

Oh, shit.

Your brain just kind of stopped working when your fingers wrapped harder around his cock at that sight. He felt so warm. So thick. And Daryl groaned—deep, broken, as if in actual pain—and his hips bucked up just barely. Lord... He really was desperate.

Slowly pumping his shaft with your hand moving up and down, you kept the pressure torturously gentle, making his abs clench every time you reached the base of his cock, his breath shuddering.

He was losing it, and his hand found your wrist suddenly, gripping—not to stop you, but to beg you without words.

You leaned down, lips brushing over his jaw. "What is it, baby? You wanna come for me?"

A strangled groan left him. He was too scared to say yes.

"You think I'll stop if you come too fast?"

Daryl didn't know if he should nod or shake his head at your words, and it turned into a mix of both. It looked almost pathetically wholesome how this strong man let himself go in a way you could've never even imagined. Especially not a few days ago.

"Good thing I want to see you come." And then, without warning, you changed your rhythm, pumping his cock harder now, faster.

"F-FUCK—m'sorry—I can't!" He moaned, louder this time. His back arched up off the sleeping bag, unable to control his body anymore, even though he wanted to.

Your other hand went to his hair again, stroking it gently. "Look at you. So cute. And I haven't even started riding you."

"I—I'll do anythin'! Just wanna come for ya… fuck! I'll be good!"

"Oh, I know you'll be good," you giggled. "But good boys wait. Good boys hold it back."

"Please," Daryl whimpered in response. "Please, please, please…"

You hushed him, cupping his cheek as he shook, letting it overwhelm him. Every twitch. Every breath. Every bit of feelings he didn't know how to handle.

"That's it, baby," you encouraged him. "Good boys come when they're told... Do it."

His whole body jerked and tensed up. A quiet, choked groan, a full-body tremble, and then a broken moan that ripped itself from his throat as he came—hard—right in your hand.

You felt Daryl's cum shoot into his boxers, his cock pulsing against your palm while he gasped for breath, hoping that maybe you wouldn't see how ashamed he was.

"N-no," he whimpered to himself. "I—I didn't wanna! Fuck!"

"You didn't want to?" You teased softly, licking your lips. "Seemed like your dick had other plans."

Daryl groaned again as he let himself fall back down onto the sleeping bag, his hands covering his face, totally embarrassed. He didn't even realize your hand was still inside his pants, but you felt him shiver beneath you, his cock still throbbing in your grip.

He was quiet. Not because he didn't have anything to say—but because he didn't know how to handle this situation. Even when his sticky cum in his pants had to be starting to feel awkward, he just lay there, soon with his hands over his face.

But eventually, you moved just a little and smiled, "Let me clean you up."

Daryl stiffened immediately. "Ya don't gotta—"

"No arguing. Be quiet. Give me something to clean you with. I want to. Now."

He flinched at that as if it hurt more than helped, but he obeyed, reaching for a cloth near him. You sat up gently and took it from him, just when he tried to push you back down—his hand on your body feeling so unsure, like he didn't even know how to ask you not to leave. But you just kissed his forehead.

"Just a few seconds, sweet boy. Then you can go back to hugging me."

It made Daryl grumble, but he let go. You pulled his pants and boxers down slowly, cleaning him up with care. Like taking care of him was just what you did. And Daryl watched in silence. Red in the face, lips parted, still breathing a little too fast.

He didn't say thank you. But his hand found your thigh, poking it to make you notice him. It was a nervous apology for coming too soon, for shaking too hard, and for needing too much.

Once you were done, you smiled and kissed his forehead again. Then you crawled back into his arms, and this time, you were facing each other. Daryl's hand trembled where it rested on your back. Not from exhaustion—though you knew he was exhausted—but from a little bit of fear. So you hugged him. Let him breathe. Let him come down for a while. And when he finally spoke, it was so quiet you almost missed it.

"Yer not… just doin' this 'cause—I dunno," He started. "Told ya… ya don't gotta pretend."

You tilted his face up, kissing the tip of his nose. "Daryl. Stop. Stop it right there."

Without saying anything, he put his head beneath your chin, one arm trying to pull you closer. You were still shirtless, and you felt the way his breath stuttered against your skin when his cheek pressed to your tits once more, but he didn't try to pull away this time. Didn't want you to cover up, either.

He just grumbled something into your skin, probably some curses, and you couldn't help but giggle. Another grumble. And his arm only held you tighter.

"You know… I know that you know that Maggie and Glenn went to the town not far from here, right? The pharmacy's still got a stash… I bet," you smirked, kissing his hair.

That made him lift his head just a little more. "What kinda stash?" He asked, confused.

"Oh, I dunno. Things a girl might need. Like... lip balm. Some body lotion. Maybe even condoms."

You ran your fingers through his hair again, and Daryl stared at you. Clearly shocked. His mouth opened, but he couldn't say anything, just like before.

"And if there are still some left," you added in a thoughtful voice, "maybe I'd put on that pink dress… Let you lay back. Let me climb on and ride you until I come."

Daryl whined. Honest-to-God whined and dropped his face back against your tits so fast it made you laugh. "Oh, you like that idea," you teased, stroking the back of his neck.

Without answering that question, he nuzzled deeper against your tits, praying that if he hid there long enough, the shame would go away. You stayed like this a little longer, just feeling the way his body stayed tense against yours, but Daryl feared that maybe if he moved again, he'd come a second time just from breathing the air you were breathing as well.

"Hey," you soon whispered into his hair.

A muffled grunt answered you.

"I've been thinking…"

Another grunt. Thinking was clearly dangerous right now.

"About that pink dress you got me," you smiled against his head, sliding your fingers up the back of his neck gently. He didn't say anything. But you could feel the answer.

Leaning back just enough to search for his gaze, you looked down at him. His eyes, still a little glassy, still wide and panicked, blinked up at you.

"Daryl," you continued, "do you want me to wear it for you?"

His mouth dropped open. Then shut it again. "I—I dunno…"

"You don't know?" You asked sweetly. "Or do you not want to say it out loud?"

He looked away fast, so you just giggled and cupped his cheek. "It's okay. You don't have to say it. But maybe…" You let your thumb slide slowly across his skin, making him shiver. "Maybe I should try it on right now."

His whole body tensed up immediately when you pulled away, trying to reach for the bag where the dress was still inside, along with the other things he'd scavenged.

"What? No... No, don't!" Daryl reached for your wrist, panicking, but his pants were still half-down his thighs, and he couldn't move worth shit. "Just wait! I didn't... I just—fuck!"

But you were already crawling to the other side of his tent as you reached for the bag to get your hands on that dress again.

"Don't," he still begged, sitting up halfway but unable to stop you. "Ain't—just… Just wear it t'morrow!"

You turned to look at him, though you were a little confused by his weird reaction. "I could wear it tomorrow, or I could just wear it right now. Where is the difference? Why are you freaking out about a dress?"

"I ain't freakin' out!" He snapped back, his voice rising, and yanked his boxers and pants completely down to get them off and to finally move. "Just don't—ain't no need for ya to wear it now!"

"Daryl, stop… I'm sorry, but," you laughed, grabbing the bag anyway, "now I have to wear it. Whether you like it or not. And I think you will like it. Calm down."

Daryl groaned and dropped back flat onto the sleeping bag, his hands covering his face. "Jesus...shit…"

You pulled the first couple of items out that you've seen before: the canned food, the bottle of water, the medicine, and other hygiene things that he probably got for you. But once you reached for the dress, your hand touched something else at the bottom of the bag.

Pulling it out slowly and turning it over in your hands, you had to blink several times in disbelief.

"...Daryl." He didn't answer, and you stared at the condoms in your hand. "Are these… what I think they are?"

He groaned once more and turned his head away from you, feeling how the shame was about to kill him. "I ain't—I wasn't—I just found ‘em!"

"Found them?" You responded, grinning by now. "And you just happened to put them safely into the bottom of your bag? For what, for emergencies?"

He grumbled something you couldn't make out, so you turned back and got closer to him, waving the condoms in front of his face on purpose. "Daryl Dixon," you whispered playfully, "you got these because of me."

"Nah. I didn't."

"You little liar," you smirked. "You didn't think I'd find out? Or were you just hopingyou'd need them in the future?"

"I didn't even think ya'd—" He sat up finally, his face red all over, and ran a hand through his hair. "I ain't even know if they're good; I just…"

Leaning in close, you reached down between you both, putting your hand on his thigh and feeling him shiver. "You've been dreaming about fucking me, haven't you, Daryl?"

His breath hitched.

"Don't worry, baby. I won't do anything… yet. But…" You leaned in to whisper right into his ear. "I love knowing that you thought about it."

Moving slowly, you gently pushed him back down by the chest until he lay flat again, with his eyes shut tight and parted lips.

"I should reward you," you continued, crawling onto him. "For being brave enough to even think about it."

Daryl's hands twitched at his sides as you straddled him, not right against his cock, but close enough.

"Undo my pants," you smiled, and he froze. "You heard me."

"I—I don't…" His voice cracked. "I never—"

"Doesn't matter," you promised, nuzzling his neck now. "All you gotta do is use your hands."

With shaky fingers, he actually reached for your waistband, but still, he looked at you once, pleading in confusion, and you gave him a nod. "Go on, baby. You can do that."

The button popped open under his fingers.

"Good boy," you praised softly. "Now the zipper."

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. But he did it. Slowly. Carefully.

You moved your hips to help him, watching as he opened your pants, and when your panties peeked out beneath them, Daryl let out another shaky breath.

"Want me to take them off for you?" You asked, all gentle and sweet.

He nodded fast. Desperate. Unsure if he should've said no and shaken his head instead, especially since he didn't know what you'd say next.

"No… You do it."

"W-what?" He asked in shock, staring at you.

"You're the one who wants to see," you teased. "So go on, sweetheart. Take them off as well. Not just my pants."

He was breathing harder again now, his chest rising and falling fast, his hands shaking like he didn't dare to touch.

"Don't be scared. You won't hurt me. I promise."

Slowly, shakily, his hands slid to your waistband. With a quiet grunt and a whole lot of effort, he tugged them down your hips.

"I—" His voice cut off into another broken groan. He was getting hard again. You could feel it. Your position over his thighs was perfect, and that little bit of pressure was definitely waking up his cock.

"Shit… Please…" He begged, though he probably didn't even know what he was asking for.

But it didn't matter. You were going to give it to him anyway. Let him take off your panties. Let him see everything.

Out of nowhere, you stood up and got off of him slowly. He was still laid out on the sleeping bag, not wanting to move unless told to. Picking the pink dress back up from where you left it, you watched the way Daryl's eyes stayed on you while you played around with it.

"You want me to put this on for you, baby?" You asked, your voice sounding as sweet as sugar. "Me wearing this while I ride your dick like I promised?"

Daryl let out another groan and tried to hide his face behind his forearm.

"Oh no. Don't be shy now," you grinned, getting him to peek at you from under his arm in return, trying not to smile in embarrassment.

You held the dress up and slowly put it on, not pulling it all the way down just yet—only down to your hips, holding it there. You knew what you were doing, and so did he.

"You're thinking about it right now, aren't you? Me in this little thing… climbing on top of you, telling you how to fuck me? Or maybe I'd ride you with it bunched up around my waist, my tits out of the top for you to suck on like before…"

Daryl whimpered again with a visibly harder cock that wanted more, even if he wasn't sure he should.

Stepping further away from him, you pointed down at the end of his sleeping bag in front of you. "Crawl to me."

Daryl wasn't sure he'd heard you right and tilted his head.

"You heard me. Crawl. To. Me."

He opened his mouth to protest, but you looking at him like that stopped him before a word came out. Shame-faced and trembling, he started to move. And it wasn't exactly graceful. Daryl was awkward as hell trying to crawl with his cock hardening against his thigh, but he did it—hands on the ground, knees following as he moved closer, his face burning red the entire way.

Reaching down, you grabbed his jaw to make him look at you. "Good boy," you praised him with a smile. "Do you really want me to wear this dress when I ride you? Tell me."

"Y-yeah," he nodded shakily.

You smirked, letting out a relaxed sigh. "You really wanna be inside me while I'm wearing it, huh?" Another whimper. A twitch from his cock below. "But you know what you have to do first, don't you?"

Daryl swallowed, looking away from you. "N-no?"

You grinned a little and slid your other hand into the waistband of your panties but didn't pull them down. "You still need to take these off for me. But not with your hands."

He stared at you again, lips parted, a confused expression on his face. "Huh?"

"With your mouth, Daryl," you answered dryly, biting your tongue after those words left you.

His eyes widened. "With… with my—my…"

"Use your teeth," you continued sweetly, letting go of his jaw. "I'm not using my hands. And neither are you. Go on."

Daryl stared at what was in front of him, right at your panties, swallowing hard. And you? You just stepped a little closer. Close enough that your thighs were almost touching his face. "Do it, Dixon."

He stopped, but then you felt his breath on your skin as he leaned in, trembling. With his mouth open, he slowly caught the edge of the waistband between his lips, his nose pressing against your lower stomach. You gasped softly as the warmth of his breath hit your skin, his teeth barely biting into the fabric as he pulled at it. It took everything in you not to moan at how careful he was.

Working your panties down awkwardly slow, Daryl was clearly unsure if he was doing it right. But you just sighed calmly and stroked his hair, praising him further. "That's it. You're doing so good. Keep going, sweetheart."

He grunted, pulling them further down inch by inch, kissing your skin accidentally between his pulls, his stubble brushing your inner thigh—and by the time they slipped past your hips, his nose was buried close enough to your pussy that you felt his shaky breath there.

"That's good, baby. Now pull them all the way down."

Daryl obeyed. His teeth pulled them lower until your panties dropped to your ankles, and you stepped out of them, one foot at a time. You bent to pick them up, but not before giving him a full view of your pussy. Though you didn't have to ask—his eyes were already staring, wide and stunned.

"Gonna let me ride your dick with nothing but this pretty little dress on?" You asked once more to get his attention back, running your fingers over your thigh.

No answer.

You looked down at his cock; by now it was already leaking.

"Now, look at that," you smirked. "I think you liked that more than you want to admit."

Daryl simply nodded, his hands twitching like he wanted to touch you, to taste, but was too scared to do so.

"Can you wait for me?" You asked, wanting to calm him down softly. "Can you stay good a little longer?"

He nodded when you leaned down, giving him another kiss on the mouth, slow and soft, before you took a few steps toward the bag, grabbing one of the condoms. Daryl was still kneeling, his eyes looking from your fingers to your face, trying to commit the whole moment to memory in case it was just a fever dream in the end, even after everything that has happened so far.

"Lie back down."

Crouching down after you said those words and helping Daryl with pushing him onto his back again, you suddenly moved to press a kiss to the tip of his cock—just a quick one—and he almost sobbed. You then crawled up into his lap, straddling him, your pussy just above it, not touching it yet.

"Arms over your head," you said next, watching as he obeyed without any words.

Stretching them and holding one wrist with one of his hands made his biceps flex instantly, while he himself was looking all helpless beneath you.

That was the moment you were the one almost losing your mind—just because of him.

You hadn't expected how immensely strong he looked laid out like that. The second his arms flexed, you stopped breathing. No, you hadn't expected it at all. You'd known he was strong, sure—years of hunting, tracking, and surviving life—but seeing it? Your mouth went dry.

"Goddamn…" You stammered before you could stop yourself, blushing slightly.

Meanwhile, Daryl looked at you kind of confused, not understanding what was wrong. "What?"

"N-nothing," you answered quickly, hoping he wasn't able to notice the effect he had on you. "Just… stay still. Eyes on me."

He obeyed again. Good boy. Too good. So good that you had to let out a deep, long breath. And he saw it. But you caught yourself quickly, pressing your thighs a little together to hold back the trembling building between them, your knees pushing against either side of his hips.

"Don't move," you whispered. "Not a muscle."

Leaning back ever so slightly and spreading your legs wide enough to show off everything, you then slid your hand down the dress. "You will stay quiet and watch me," you explained to him. "That's all you're allowed to do for now."

You slid your fingers down over your belly, past the edge of the dress, and let your touch slip between your thighs, making your breath hitch, and his too. Daryl's hips twitched slightly, but he still didn't move his arms. He just bit his lower lip, which was trembling a bit now. But you kept your movements slow. One finger was sliding between your pussy folds, parting them. Then two fingers, spreading them wider and teasing yourself, rubbing them softly over your clit while you moaned—just for him.

Daryl groaned in return, and you pushed your fingers deeper, pressing inside enough to feel how wet you were before pulling them out and bringing them back to your mouth. You sucked one finger clean—still watching him—and his body shivered, his fists clenching where they lay above his head.

"Poor baby," you teased him on purpose. "You're trying so hard, aren't you?"

Daryl nodded desperately. No words, just him nodding, wanting you to save him from himself. Then, he did something again that made you stop.

Only one thing.

One tiny, unplanned, accidental thing.

Something he'd done since you'd woken him from grinding and humping against your ass in his sleep. It was him looking at you. But not at your tits, not at your pussy, but at your face. Daryl looked up at you with those goddamn blue eyes, as if he was already in love with you and wanting you to notice that this wasn't only about lust—it was all about you, you, you.

"God… f-fuck… Daryl," you whispered with a shaky voice.

Immediately grabbing for the condom next to you, you quickly bit at the edge of it, fast, tearing the package open with your teeth. Daryl's eyes went wide in confusion as you held the torn wrapper between your teeth, letting him see it there while you stared him down, lips parted around the piece you bit off, before spitting it away to the side.

Taking out the condom and throwing the rest of the package away, you moved lower over his body until your face was right above his cock. You watched Daryl flinch, his legs tensing as you reached out, gently wrapping your fingers around his shaft. He hissed through his teeth, whimpering at the feeling of your touch.

"Hush now," you whispered and began pumping him slowly, with just your fingertips at first. He throbbed in your hand, his head dropping back against the sleeping bag as you worked him up.

Still keeping your eyes looking at his, you leaned down toward his cock and pressed your lips to the tip, making it leak even harder, but you did manage to hold him still.

Smirking at him next, you brought the condom to your face instead, putting the ring of it carefully between your lips, and used only your mouth to roll it down over his shaft, inch by inch, holding his shaft steady with one hand. It took effort. But you managed it. When the condom finally slid all the way down, you pulled back, leaning over him again and letting your tits press against his chest.

Daryl moaned quietly, so you just kissed him again—really kissed him.

Not like before. This time, you kissed him roughly, letting your tongue slide into his mouth. He gasped and shivered under you, his tongue all clumsy but wanting more, his body shaking all over.

"Look at you," you whispered against his jaw when you pulled back. "Lying there and just waiting for me to fuck you."

Daryl swallowed hard at your words. Then you moved, sitting upright on his thighs and moving forward until your pussy pressed to the length of his cock, still not letting him inside, just grinding yourself down along the shaft.

The warmth of his cock, the shape… Shit, it felt good.

"F-fuck," Daryl breathed out when you rocked forward again, sliding up slowly, notching the tip ever so slightly against your clit before grinding back down.

"Shit—please—fuck."

You laughed as a response, short and sweet, and reached up to grab one of the straps of the dress, letting it slip slowly off your shoulder. It slid down, giving him another chance to look at your tits again.

"Wanna suck?" You asked him, and he nodded helplessly, staring up at you with an overwhelmed expression.

Leaning back down, you offered it to him. His mouth found your tit instantly, his lips sucking on your nipple while you kept grinding down along his cock. You could feel how close he was again, his cock throbbing with every little movement.

"God," you moaned. "You make me feel so good, Daryl..."

He whimpered against your skin, sucking harder at your nipple, until you straightened up, letting it slip from his mouth, only to reach down and grip his cock, guiding the tip right where you wanted it to be next.

That first moment—simply letting the tip of his cock push against your soaked pussy—was almost too much. Even through the condom, you felt everything. The thickness. The throbbing of it. The sheer size of him.

Jesus Christ. He really was big.

Then, slowly, so goddamn slowly, you sank down onto him. The tip of his cock pushed into you with such a deep, thick stretch, it made you both moan—louder and longer, but not too loud. And you took your time. Letting inch after inch of his cock fill you up until he was completely inside, your ass pressing down onto his lap.

"Holy… holy shit," you breathed out, half-laughing, half-groaning, your hands now on his chest to steady yourself as you rocked your hips forward, letting yourself feel him pulsing inside. "Daryl, you're—fuck…"

Looking down at him, Daryl choked on another moan, but still, he didn't look. That wouldn't do.

"Look at me, baby."

He shook his head, his eyes still squeezed shut. "Can't."

"Why not?"

"Don't wanna fuck it up," he sobbed in return. Your heart damn near broke at that, but you didn't let it show. Instead, you reached out to caress his cheek.

"You're not doing anything wrong. You're doing good. Now open those eyes and look at me."

His eyes opened slowly, almost afraid, but when he looked up at you, they seemed to relax.

And shit, there was that same look on his face again, giving away that he'd never seen anything so unreal in his life. You, in that pink dress, breathing hard, your tits bouncing just slightly as you ground your pussy on his cock, your eyes looking into his like you owned him. Like this moment, this man—was yours.

"There we go," you whispered. "Keep your eyes on me."

And then you lifted yourself just a bit, leaving only the tip of his cock inside of you before you sank back down.

Your mouth dropped open as he slid in again, inch by aching inch, and all you could do was to start riding him faster—and you meant it—your hips rolling, your ass slapping against his thighs. And the more you moved, the harder it was to stay calm. Especially when you looked at his reactions.

"Keep looking," you reminded him with a breathless voice.

Daryl tried; he really did. But his eyes looked down, then back to your face with another loud groan. His hips pushed up once, involuntarily, and you whimpered at the sudden, deep, rough thrust.

"Oh, fuck! Y-you like watching it go in, don't you?"

Daryl bit his lip and nodded, but then looked back at your face as if it was the most important part of you.

Smiling, you began to move faster again, your rhythm picking up, riding him harder now, which had both of you gasping, cursing, and trembling. Your soaked pussy was taking him again and again, his cock filling you so perfectly, stretching you with every movement, so deep you could barely concentrate.

And you loved it. Loved how shy he looked while his cock was buried inside you, loved how he watched you so insecurely, not wanting to hurt you.

Your hands moved to your tits, pulling out the other one, squeezing them right in front of him, and pinching your nipples as you bounced on his cock. That got you a grunt—and a broken, whispered, "Goddamn..."

Now he was really watching.

"Yeah… just like that," you breathed. "That's it, baby. Watch me."

He moaned again, his mouth open now, totally lost.

And you were getting close. You could feel it—the way your clit ground down against him just right, the muscles of your thighs aching from the effort of riding him. But you didn't stop. You could feel him fighting it, staying still beneath you, letting you use him just like you'd promised. But then he bucked again. Out of nowhere, his hips thrust up once more.

"Oh God—fuck!" You nearly screamed, your whole body tensing up as the thick tip of his cock slammed as deep into you as it possibly could.

Your hands searched for his shoulders as you struggled to hold on, and Daryl instantly panicked. "Shit—I—I didn't mean to!"

Not wanting to answer him, one of your hands grabbed for his wrists, holding them down roughly.

"Don't move," you hissed, but your voice cracked, sounding more like begging than an actual command he'd have to follow.

Daryl's biceps flexed, though he didn't resist as you leaned down, kissing him at first, only to bite him next, right on the muscles of one arm. Your lips left a bruise, your teeth a mark, and still you didn't stop moving, your pussy continuing to clench around his cock.

You couldn't even talk anymore. All the words were gone. All you had left were the noises you made. Breathy, broken moans. Shaky, little whimpers every time his cock filled you up completely. Soft, short gasps that escaped between kisses to his arms, his neck, his shoulder—anywhere you could reach his body with your mouth, but without ever letting go of his wrists.

"Fuck, fuck…" Daryl was groaning beneath you, ragged and fast, his muscles twitching under your grip.

He was trying his hardest to hold back, knowing it would be beyond any kind of hope if he let his body continue to respond to your every little touch.

You felt drunk on it. Wild. Overstimulated and insatiable all at once. Then it hit you, that deep feeling inside that told you that your orgasm was coming fast, and you barely managed to choke out the warning.

"S-shit! I'm about to—"

You had to slow down. With shaking hands, you let go of his wrists, putting your palms on his thighs instead, and leaned back—arching your body and trying to keep calm. It was right there… right there.

"Hold me," you then gasped. "Now. Please."

Daryl obeyed. His hands quickly moved to your hips, trembling and sweaty, but still as strong as always. And as soon as he gripped you, it slowed down everything. You didn't exactly know if time had stopped, but it sure felt like it. Just long enough to see him.

"Look at me," you whispered. He already was, and you knew that, but you felt the need to convince yourself that he wouldn't look away.

"I don't want to come without you… I want to come with you. With."

You weren't sure if you were begging or controlling anymore—maybe it was both. Maybe that's what desperation looked like on you: shaking, wet, aching, and stretched full with him, your voice almost nothing but that one plea.

With.

Daryl's fingers tightened just a little on your hips, but he didn't answer. His mouth opened in hopes to answer, to say anything, and to give you everything in return, but nothing came out except a long, needy moan that turned into a needy, broken sound as you rolled your hips slower, with Daryl feeling himself twitch inside you.

"Please," you said again, but this time it was quieter. You were so close it almost hurt—it was just too much—but you waited. You held it back with every bit of strength you had left. Simply to make sure.

Daryl looked done, even scared to let it happen. "'M tryin'…"

His voice broke off, and you nearly screamed. Everything inside you tensed up. "Come with me, Daryl, come on… Touch me."

His hands finally grabbed your ass hard, pushing you down onto his cock, and his hips bucked up into you, uncontrolled now, losing himself. Then it hit you both at once.

You cried out but didn't care. Couldn't hold back the sob as you came hard on his cock, taking your breath away, your everything. Daryl came the same second. You felt it. The way he shook. The way he groaned with his lips trembling and eyes squeezed shut as his cock pulsed hard inside you.

As soon as it was over, you leaned forward, your forehead touching his, kissing him softly several times in a row. And for a while, neither of you moved. Nothing but the sound of panting. Of hearts trying to calm down. And Daryl… poor Daryl looked like he wasn't sure he'd survived it.

"Still with me, sweetheart?"

He didn't answer at first but nodded. His voice, when it came, was sounding kind of hoarse and unsure.

"Y-yeah… I… goddamn..." He trailed off, burying his face in your neck, without being able to stop himself from remembering something. Something he'd already been trying to push away, probably the moment it happened.

"Ya bit me," he then whispered, his voice quiet like he was trying not to draw attention to it. "‘S'pose that was on purpose?"

Looking back at him, you raised an eyebrow, smiling knowingly. Not teasing in a way that might confuse him. Just amused. And maybe still a little… hungry.

"What, you didn't like it?"

Daryl looked away instantly. "N-no, I, uh, I didn't say that. I just—" He swallowed loudly. "Was kinda… surprised, I guess."

"Surprised?" You repeated, moving your hand across his chest and further until it stopped above the spot on his biceps that you'd bitten. Biting your bottom lip, you then grinned at Daryl as if you were about to devour him all over again. "I simply told you to keep still."

"But I did…"

Your smile turned into a tiny smirk. "Then maybe I was simply proud of you."

Daryl didn't know what to do with that answer. You could see it in the way he looked at you. He looked like a man who'd never been praised for anything except maybe not dying. "Flex your arms for me..."

"What?"

You pulled back just far enough to look right into his eyes again, your hand not leaving one of his strong arms. "I told you to flex for me. Be a good boy and flex your arms again. Come on, show me."

Daryl closed his eyes and still hesitated. Really hesitated. His brows were furrowed in thought, checking if you were messing with him. Knowing that his first instinct was to run away from being seen again, you continued to wait patiently until he breathed out slowly through his nose and obeyed. The muscles under your touch tensed, feeling ever so strong and still trembling a little from everything you'd done to him before.

Hell, he had no idea what that did to you.

You immediately leaned down and dragged your mouth along his bicep, soft at first, just a teasing little kiss. Then your tongue came out, licking along it until he shuddered, before your lips were pressed to the mark you'd left earlier, sucking a little harder this time.

"Shit," Daryl whispered. "What're ya doin'…"

But he didn't stop you.

"I'm making sure you know," you said quietly, pulling back again, "that you didn't imagine this."

He didn't answer, but his eyes looked at his arm to where your lips had just been, then back up to your face, unable to believe it. As if all of this—your mouth, your voice, your gentleness—was too much to understand. And that was when you could feel how something changed. It wasn't even noticeable at first. The way his hands twitched and then went still. The way he stopped looking at you, even though your face was still so close to his.

"Hey, hey," you whispered softly. "Daryl, are you okay?"

His jaw clenched and his shoulders stiffened further beneath you, making him uncomfortable. "…Yeah."

"Did I hurt you?" You sat up a little, carefully, and that's when he hissed again.

"N-no," he answered with a strained voice, not really convincing you.

"Okay, okay, wait," you whispered, slowly lifting yourself off him, trying to be gentle, but he winced again, his eyes squeezing shut as his cock slipped out. He turned his face to the side, biting down on his tongue, wishing it would help, since he didn't want you to hear him make another pitiful sound.

Once you slipped off him, you instinctively reached down to take care of the condom. Kneeling between his legs, your fingers cautiously slipped it off, tying it together and tossing it aside without saying anything, trying to keep things quiet.

But Daryl was trembling again by now. He was lying there with his face turned away, seemingly chewing on the inside of his cheek with his teeth. His hands were curled into fists on either side of him, his arms all stiff, not knowing what to do with them anymore.

Daryl only then realized that you'd pulled off him. Not because you weren't on him anymore, riding him. No, you weren't with him anymore. That was when his thoughts started screaming. That this was over. That you got what you wanted, and now you'd realize what an asshole he was underneath it all. He hated how much he wanted to pull you back down. Onto his lap. Onto his cock. Onto him. Just to feel safe again. Just to feel needed. But he didn't say a word. Didn't even breathe right.

Reaching out to caress his chest, you were caught off guard the second your fingertips touched him, his arm shooting out, grabbing your wrist.

You gasped, and Daryl realized what he was doing too late. His eyes snapped open, and he instantly let go. You pulled back a little from the shock of it, holding your wrist, and the expression on his face?

He looked like someone had just hit him. "Fuck, 'm sorry! This ain't—"

"Hey, it's okay," you cut him off fast, holding up your hands, even though your heart was still racing a little bit. "It's okay, Daryl. You didn't hurt me. I'm fine. I'm okay."

But you weren't sure he heard you when he sat up. His face was turning pale now, his hands shaking as he slid them through his hair, back and forth, over and over again. He was grumbling something—probably to himself—but you couldn't make it out.

"Stupid… stupid fuckin'—goddamn—shouldn't've…"

"Daryl," you said softly, still kneeling in front of him, but he didn't look at you. His eyes were somewhere else, far away.

"I fuckin' touched ya like that," he finally whispered. "Grabbed ya."

"Yeah, and then you let go," you said gently, but your voice was shaking now too, but not because of any pain he thought he'd caused. "Daryl, you didn't hurt me."

Then you realized he wasn't breathing right. Short, shallow gasps, like he was trying not to cry or scream or vomit. Or maybe all three.

"I ain't like that," he whispered. "I ain't—I ain't him!"

You didn't know who 'him' was, but your heart sank at the sound of it. Some memory, or so it seemed. Some long-buried monster, maybe.

Daryl looked at you once again. But there was no man in front of you. He looked like before—just a boy. A boy who never got held after someone hurt him. A boy who was taught that love was dangerous and wanting love made you weak. A boy who'd never been looked at like he was wanted, let alone loved, and now that he'd let you see all of him—let you use him, take him, and especially care for him—it was too much. And now the shame was devouring him from the inside out.

"I fuckin' spat on ya," he then remembered. "Treated ya like shit. Told ya that ya were nothin' but some fuckin'… useless dumbass…"

"Daryl—"

"Ya should hate me," he simply continued, louder this time. "Ya should. Ya should hate me, ya should leave, shit, ya should go!"

He moved to get up, but his knees wouldn't let him the second he stood. His legs gave out, and you caught him in time, your arms wrapping around him as he leaned against you, trembling harder.

"Daryl, hey… hey," you quickly said, holding him up, or trying to as best as you could. "I'm here. Listen to me… I won't leave. I won't."

Pressing his face into your shoulder, he didn't answer you and went silent. Breathing hard. Twitching a little in your arms like he was cold. Or scared. Or both. You sat down slowly, pulling him with you, holding him in your arms, sensing that he didn't know how to hold himself up anymore. You didn't do anything else for a while. You only held him.

Eventually, you felt one little, wet drop hit your naked chest. Then another.

And you said nothing, but Daryl had gone quiet now, with his forehead pressed against your collarbone. Eventually, he tried to put one of his arms around your waist, and the twitching of his muscles definitely wasn't the good kind. They twitched way too fast for someone who wasn't really moving.

As soon as you moved slightly away from him, he sobbed in shock, thinking you would really just leave.

"Easy, baby. Just grabbing something for you."

Daryl's eyes followed you, wide and glassy, unsure if he should stop you or not, so you gave him a tiny smile—just enough to convince him you weren't going anywhere for real. Then you crouched by the corner of his tent, searching through the clothing you left on the ground. His pants, your panties, his boxers, your bra, and your shirt were all tangled together, looking through it until you found what you were searching for.

The flannel shirt you gave him. You picked it up and brought it back over to where he was still half-sitting, dazed and shivering.

"Arms up," you whispered, remembering how you'd told him those same two words before.

But Daryl only sobbed.

"Come on now," you said gently, watching how he moved awkwardly and unsure. "Only the shirt."

You slipped the sleeves on, one at a time, then buttoned the middle lazily. Not all the way. Just enough so it wouldn't slip off his shoulders if he moved again.

Then you leaned in and kissed his forehead. "Lie down."

He did. Not all the way at first, but once he did, you lay down next to him, pulling the edges of the sleeping bag slightly over both of you, hugging him close until his leg rested over your hip, your hand on his chest, and his forehead against your temple.

You thought maybe Daryl would fall asleep like that. But his breath stuttered.

And the next sob came out of him so suddenly, so harsh, it didn't even sound like crying. It sounded like a choke. Like his body was wanting to push away the pain and couldn't keep it in.

Daryl then grabbed onto you like he was scared, and you could barely keep him still. Even with both arms around his shoulders, his sobs cracked, and he stuttered every time he tried to apologize, repeating it over and over as if it were the only words left in his throat.

"…'M sorry. 'M sorry. 'M sorry…"

"I know," you whispered and kissed his cheek. "I know. I know."

It went on for a while. You lost track of how long. Could've been ten minutes. Could've been thirty. But you didn't care. Eventually, Daryl's crying stopped. He was still trembling, but not violently. His hands relaxed around you, though they didn't let go.

"Daryl?" A hum was the only answer you got. "Can I ask you something?"

This time, he didn't answer with a hum. Just a slight nod, the tiniest one, like it was all he could manage.

"I wanted to know," you started softly. "When you came out of the woods and went up to the RV…" You waited, wanting to see if he remembered what you meant or if he would simply brush it off.

"Just gave Carol a damn flower..."

You nodded and smiled. Not a big smile. Not the kind that told him he did something wrong or something right. It was a quiet, understanding little smile, as if saying, I understand.

But once Daryl realized you weren't answering him, he looked up at you like he couldn't figure out why you weren't mad. Or confused. Or disgusted. Or whatever he thought he deserved. His hand then came up fast, moving in a way that wasn't really familiar for him, with his fingertips brushing against your lower lip once while looking at your mouth. And for a second, it really did feel like the world had gone normal again. As if all that crying and shame and panic never existed.

For you, it seemed Daryl just needed to remind himself that you were real. That your mouth hadn't cursed him out in secret, hadn't spat in his face like he used to do to you. That you were still kind. Still looking at him like he wasn't just white trash.

You then kissed the tip of his finger gently. That was all it took to undo him again. His eyes got wet instantly, and the little shaky breath he took like he was trying not to cry again—it hurt you. Moving closer, your nose bumped against his, one of your hands moving to caress his cheek with the back of it. His skin was still a little sweaty, and he swiped under his eye, even though the tears hadn't fallen again yet.

"You don't have to look at me like that," you whispered.

His voice cracked. "Like what?"

"Like you expect me to leave for good."

Daryl looked at your arm then, the one with the healing injury where you'd sliced it open, the one he thought he was guilty of, in shame and silence. He looked so tired. So tired from thinking that he was the one that almost killed you.

"I don't know what you told Carol," you then continued gently, brushing your nose along his cheek. "But you got her that rose for a reason, right?"

He swallowed once but didn't answer.

"She's not me," you whispered with a smile. "And I'm not her. But I understand."

That got him. He wasn't sure if he should move, if he should do what his twitching hands wanted to do right now. To hold you in his arms as well.

So you reached down and took one of his hands in yours and brought it to your chest. Laid it flat right over your heart. "I know the story," you continued. "The history of the Cherokee roses."

Daryl's lips were parting slightly, but he was nodding in silence.

"That flower only grew when their women cried. Their tears watered it. And when it bloomed, it protected them. It gave them strength. So they were able to keep going. So they could protect again as well."

"Yeah..."

You smiled when Daryl finally spoke, but still, you wanted to remain careful. "It's kinda like... it's a promise."

He tilted his head, still looking unsure.

"Like… no matter how hard it gets, no matter how much shit is in the way," you said, sliding your finger lightly over his chest through the flannel shirt, "there's this rose that grows. It's the courage to keep going, the strength to protect what matters. It sounds familiar, don't you think? Thinking it's invisible... but still holding on. Still here."

"But I hurt ya…" He answered and immediately buried his face in your neck, reaching for your waist so hard that it almost bruised, but not from aggression. Just panic and instinct.

"You didn't mean to. You were scared. You still are."

You looked Daryl straight in the eye so he wouldn't flinch too far away. His lip trembled. Then he did it anyway, apologizing again.

Sighing softly, you pulled his arm a bit tighter around you, letting him feel how warm you still were, how unbothered, how there.

"You're not a bad man, Daryl," you smiled. "But you're a man who got too used to losing."

He didn't answer but held you again, this time much more gently. One arm wrapped around your waist, the other sliding up your back, then stopping like he was still afraid he'd fuck it up. But you just cuddled close and let him.

For once in his whole life, someone was feeling warm, safe, and simply there, and it was him getting to keep it. And for the first time since the world ended, Daryl Dixon let himself fall asleep with someone in his arms—with no fear, no distance, no shame, and no guilt.

Just with you.

And he slept like he knew you'd still be there come morning.

𝑻𝒂𝒈-𝑳𝒊𝒔𝒕: @cokeangell

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.

the first time katsuki really catches on, is when he’s got your knees pressed into your shoulders and his cock plugging your slick hole full of your arousals, crudely mixing together as one stream of opaque white. it’s been a long week, the kind that takes a toll and makes him angry. pent up in ways that mean forcing your shape into the mattress, moulding you into the perfect little toy with a feverish pace blinded by desire. all he can think about is filling you up, how you high and angelic sound when you’re right on the edge and you’re striking tigers stripes down his back.

it’s on this night that you peer up at the sweaty blonde, tiring from your nails through damp sun-stroked hair to grasp at the hand by your head — sweetly and romantically pulling his bruised knuckles to your lips for a fairy light kiss. it’s sloppy, saliva spilling onto the back of his hand and it’s your innocent face, glimmering with perspiration and tears as you do it … that gets katsuki to break. to moan like he really means it whilst slipping to fingers into your open mouth that hangs open with needy cries.

“like that, don’t you?” he says, coarse awe running through bakugou’s voice, adding a frantic covetous twang to the usual note of his vocal chords. katsuki pushes his fingers further, bathing them with your boiling hot drool as your tongue lathes between them, tasing the sex that taints your finger tips. you let out a dumb mewl in return, blinking so pretty, like there’s only air in your head when you stare up at him.

then he pushes even further, just barely tickling the back of your throat — muffling your cries that slip free with every hard smack of bakugou’s powerful hips into yours. he matches the rhythm of his girth plunging in and out of you, grinding against your gooey g-spot, with that of his fingers. fucking your wet holes from both ends .

“pretty firm needs somethin’ to suck on, hm? get ‘em wet, show me how much you want this.”

he goads you, eager for the dazed, vacant expression that settles on your features. something sinister burns in katsuki’s chest, now that he knows how to get you pliant and cute on his cock. all you need is something to pacify your mouth, something to play with on the drooly palette of your tongue.

“you love these fingers,” you let go of him with a lewd pop once he pulls from the heat of your mouth, wiping spit from the corners and dragging the wet digits down to your throat. squeezing. “how about here? where i can feel your pulse racin’, where i can stop you breathin’ just like that…” katsuki feels it before he sees it, the crude clench of your creamy cunt around him once his hand cups your throat that bobs in anticipation. your spit cools against the blistering hot skin there, your breathing uneven as he slowly cuts off that supply of air. “fuck, you’re every man’s dream. lettin’ me do this to you.”

bakugou cocks his head down at you, balmy breath running over your top lip. coming out in rutty puffs because he’s fucking you so hard and fast, his body feels like it’s running a marathon. “but you’re mine… oh fuck, you’re mine.”

he adds gruffly, still bucking into you. except now his rhythm is wild like a beast untamed. katsuki’s thrusts unregulated, punching into your welcoming velvety walls that seem wetter than they were before. now that he’s choking you just a little.

the pressure has your mind reeling and your body overcome with a myriad of tingling sensations that leave you numb, having you thinking that you’re going to leave earth because you would have died from bliss.

one squeeze to your seizing throat brings you back.

“inhale deep ‘n stay awake for me baby. wanna see the look on your face when we try that again.” katsuki says, confident, low, brooding. dark ruby eyes brimming with lust. he taps your cheek once, pulling your dreamy focus back onto him.

end ! likes are appreciated, but just liking doesn’t do much on tumblr! to support and motivate myself and other writers, reply, reblog and comment if you'd like to see more!! — asks are open to thirsts and thoughts! join my taglist ! love you!