~Vampiria~

Somehow cheating on him was the first good idea you had in a while. There's nothing to feel guilty about when Spencer has a thing for Rosita anyways, and he’s clearly not shy about the way he looks at her.

Would breaking up be easier than eyeing down all the new men in Alexandria? Absolutely. But that was much more entertaining.

Deanna was throwing a party at her house where you’d frequent often because of Spencer. Everyone who was new to the community showed up, even the reserved and strong archer that came with the newest group to join the community.

Daryl Dixon had to be a sign from the universe.

With the way he held himself, you were entranced. He walked around the streets with that heavy crossbow on his back, which he had no trouble pulling the strings back on. You could watch him work all day carving arrows or fixing his bike. A man like him who could get his hands dirty looks good no matter the filth.

You wonder just how good he was with them. Just from studying him when he wasn’t looking, you knew he could probably manhandle you however which way he wanted. The outline of his biceps always made the cloth of his shirt stretch the fabric, and the veins on his hands said enough about how strong he was.

From the times you’ve spoken to him before, you could tell he wasn’t the most extroverted person you’d known, not by a long shot. You weren’t close to that yourself, which is why you’ve admired him from afar so many times. It was becoming a problem.

Even before everyone had arrived at Deanna’s, you were there to help set up and pour yourself a drink to get through the night.

You had planned on getting much more drunk to endure the evening, but then your mind wandered to the archer again and it had you considering your options. Truth be told, you'd always been into rugged, older men like Daryl. There was no doubt in your mind he knew the right way to please someone.

Your plan was simple: get Daryl alone and make a move on him.

Groups of people trickled into the party after long, indulging on the food and drinks put out. There were enough people in the house for a crowd to form after an hour or so.

Daryl was one of the last ones to show up, catching your attention with how he moved. He looked as he usually did, rugged in the background with that leather vest across his shoulders and the same dark shirt hugging his biceps. These days he tended to wear more shirts with sleeves. You wished he didn’t.

Among the different heads floating around the living and dining rooms, you’d only spotted Spencer once, walking right over to where Rosita stood with her friends. He'd pretend not to see you over the course of the night and you'd probably do the same.

It was much easier than pretending you actually cared if he was into her or not.

About a half hour later, you’d spotted the long mop of brown hair with angel wings on his back slipping out one of the side doors to the porch to bum a smoke. Now was your chance.

Walking around the edge of the room gave you the chance to get out right after Daryl did. The smell of fresh night air and its coolness to your skin was a drastic difference to the interior of the house. Tobacco wafted around the air, but upon first look, you hadn’t spotted the archer anywhere. Then you slowly walked further down the wooden boards of the porch, one creaking ever so often with the weight of your foot.

Turning the corner revealed him to you, the trail of smoke from his lit cigarette illuminated in the moonlight. Daryl was quick to realize you were there, turning his head with a sharpness only his tracker ears could pick up.

“Hey, could I bum a smoke?” you ask, breaking the silence.

Wordlessly he nods, digging in his pocket for the box. You walk over to him, taking it from his warm hand and brushing your fingers over his. Placing it between your lips, you lean over to where he flicks his zippo lighter open and watches as you inhale.

Leaning closer to him sends the smell of leather closer to you, that and the smell of tobacco in the cigarette he’s halfway through.

You stand for a moment in complete silence, watching his eyes survey the nearby street as if he were still on watch. All you can do is stare at his soft but aged features in the moonlight, eyeing the smoke that rolls out of his lips and nose when he exhales.

In a second, his eyes meet yours, and yet you don’t look away. They instead drag down his face and body and back up without faltering. Your lips curl into a smirk, acutely aware of exactly what you’re doing to him. It certainly makes Daryl feel some sort of way, because the next thing you know, he speaks in a low voice.

“Why’re you lookin’ at me like that?”

His words make you shiver, and your heart pounds. Daryl has such an effect on you, like he was more than intimidating but in a way that fills your head with filthy images of him. You can swear you see his icy blue eyes dart down your figure and then back up.

“Like what?”

“Like you want somethin’ from me.”

“Is it that obvious?” you chuckled.

“Yeah.”

You take a step closer to him.

“Don’t you got a boyfriend?”

“Forget about him. It’s just you and me out here talking.”

A moment passes, and you’re taking another drag of your cigarette.

“We ain’t talkin’ about much. So why don’t you tell me why y’re really out here an’ not in there schmoozing all over him?”

“You’re really asking me why I’m not in my boyfriend’s mother’s house where he tries to hide how terribly attracted he is to Rosita for the whole night?”

He huffs a breath.

“Right. Sorry.” he replies, looking off into the distance.

“No, it’s fine,” you reply with a chuckle, “You don’t have to apologize. I don’t really care that much. I’ve thought about dumping him for a while…”

You trail off and that catches Daryl’s attention.

“Why haven’t ya?”

“I… don’t know. Guess I was waiting for some version of the other shoe to drop so I’d have a valid reason to leave, and not just because he wasn’t satisfying me during sex…”

Once the words roll out of your mouth, you know there’s no turning back. You look towards Daryl, horrifically embarrassed to have even spoken in the first place. His eyes catch your expression, and a small smile makes its way onto his lips.

“Really? He looks like the type.”

His comment catches you off guard, laughing in return to break the awkward moment.

He takes another look at you, and he doesn’t know if this was the first time he’d seen you smile or not. Granted, he’d only seen you were when you were working around the community, never getting around to having a full conversation with you like he’d wanted to for some time.

Daryl felt himself an amateur at talking to new people, unlike ones he had been around for years.

“So… why’d you stay when you know he’s lookin’ at someone else? That ain’t love.”

“Cause maybe I’m looking at someone else too.”

Your cheeks run hot, words lingering in the air.

A brief momentary pause passes when he flips his head in your direction again. The ends of his hair curl around his face and all you want to do is reach out to swipe it away so you could see him more clearly, hoping the heat from your cheeks isn’t spreading to your ears.

It takes him a moment to realize who you’re talking about. Him.

Your heart pounds in your chest when his expression changes just the slightest, knowing he wasn't always the most expressive person.

Daryl chews on his lip a little before speaking, choosing to say fuck it for once and let himself feel something other than numbness for months on end.

“I can’t lie to ya, I’ve been doin’ some of the same.” he starts, fidgeting with his fingers.

“Really?”

Oh, he’d thought about you alright. Daryl had definitely had enough nights revisiting the wet dream of that image more than once, one with your head on his pillow and his hands around your waist as he thrusts deep inside you.

You catch his blue eyes through the strands of dark brown hair over his eyes, and there’s something different in them than before.

He clears his throat, “Yeah. Been thinkin’ about you, too. Just probably not the way y’re thinkin. Sorry to disappoint.”

“Daryl, I’m not picturing happily ever after… I’m just curious as to what you’ve thought of me. I don’t care what it is, I just want to know.”

“Let me show you instead.”

-

Moments later, you’re stumbling backwards with Daryl attached to your lips and his traveling hands on your body.

Throwing open the door to his place, you can’t escape from how much it smells like him. It’s not some terribly masked scent of bo with cologne badly covering it. It’s leather and pine and motor oil.

You’re running your hands up and down his torso mindlessly as he pulls your shirt over your head, right before your legs hit the edge of his bed. Daryl pushes you back onto the mattress, and you can hear the little things he's saying between each kiss.

Gonna take such good care’a you…

Don’t worry ‘bout anything… jus’ turn that pretty little head’a yours off ‘n let me do all the work.

Relax, darlin’…

After so long without being touched or loved properly in this world, you felt fucking robbed. With Daryl, he was all hands, running them over every inch of your body he could grab, and a pair of eyes that could make you melt in less than 30 seconds.

If you were fireworks, Daryl was a bright fire hurdling towards you. Something in the way his hands caressed your skin like a paintbrush on canvas made your head spin. How he moved his lips over your neck in such a way like he was etching each one into your skin for you to remember forever.

He was eager, but so so tender.

“Daryl…” you moaned, his lips moving down the valley of your chest to leave another kiss right between your breasts. He held himself back from losing himself in your touches and soft sounds of pleasure you made when he held your body. His hands at your waist slide up and around to your back to unhook your bra and toss it somewhere in his room.

Daryl’s warm palms come up to cup your tits, running a finger over your hardened nipples and watching how easily it makes you squirm.

“Fuck…”

He’s succeeded again at making you moan for him.

One of his hands slides between your legs, rubbing you over right where you wanted him the most. In turn, you moan again, and he takes a sick kind of pride in knowing he’s the one making you a mess in your underwear.

“Don’t tease… just fuck me…” you whimper, pushing his vest off his shoulders, taking his muscled torso above you.

“Gotta get you ready first. Gotta give you what he can’t.”

His words produce another moan from you just upon hearing them, a rush of goosebumps running across your skin endlessly. Daryl works your belt undone and the clink of metal makes you shiver. They hit the floor of his room faster than you can even think.

It becomes clear to him just how much you’d needed this when he finds the wet spot on your underwear.

Before he even reaches for it, like he wants to, he places both his hands at your knees and drags his fingertips up your thighs. Feather light touches that are so full of dedication and desire.

A second later you’re moaning again for him, and he hasn’t even touched you yet.

Spencer must be a complete idiot.

Your thighs begin to close once his fingertips reach the innermost area of your thigh, but Daryl just presses them open and gives you a look that tells you to keep them there.

His lips drag up your legs, leaving kisses in his wake. It’s when he gets close to your clothed pussy that you whine, running his thumb over the wet spot in your panties. His hot breath ghosts over it until he pulls them down and off your body.

Now, that was a sight to see.

There you were, laying on his bed looking like this. Your eyes lidded and nipples hard and the shine of your wetness in the low light. It made his cock throb incessantly, tightening his pants that were only halfway undone.

Daryl leans down to kiss above your navel, eyeing you as if to look for your approval before going any further. When you nodded a second later, he hooks his arms around your thighs and you feel his hot breath above your pussy.

His thick digits spread you open for him, ghosting the slightest of pressure over your clit and watches as you shiver in response. The shine of your slick is most inviting, and a second later he’s running his tongue against you. He circles around your clit once and then again, before prodding a finger at your entrance.

“So sensitive… been a long time, huh?”

“Mhm…” you whimper, gasping a little when he pushes into you.

He attached his lips around the small numb and sucked on it gently, pulling the prettiest sounds from you.

“Taste so sweet, can’t believe that dick’s been missin’ out on this pussy.”

He’d never known someone with such a sweet taste before, a sudden wave of pleasure coursing through him. It made him moan against you, working his tongue like you were the last meal he’d ever have. Daryl pushed his middle finger inside, curling against that one spot that only you had been able to hit for much too long, and the next moan of his name was extra loud.

“Fuck… so tight, darlin’.”

"Maybe your hands're just bigger than normal…"

Daryl chuckles, because you weren't wrong. It also just tells him that you've been looking at him just as he's been looking at you.

Your eyelids fluttered shut from the pleasure, and your hand moved to run through his hair. Your nails on his scalp just added to the pleasure he was getting from using his tongue on you.

The tip flicked up and down on your sensitive bud, causing you to squeeze your thighs around his head impulsively, making your body jolt from the stimulation.

“Didn’t.. know it could feel like this,” you panted, “Never… had it this good before…” you moaned, unknowingly boosting his ego to no end.

It was magic, how Daryl managed to erase the bad experiences with just this. He wasn’t close to done with you, especially not when you praised him like that.

“Look at you, how pretty you are…” he spoke, dragging his eyes up your figure again.

Daryl released one of your thighs to palm at his hardened cock in his pants, still trapped under layers of clothing. He sneaks a second finger in after that, your arousal soaking his hand so easily now. His fingers squish against that toe-curling spot inside you over and over again, all while working slow circles on your clit.

“Fuck… You’re so good at that, keep going…”

You whimper from the overwhelming stimulation, and you aren’t going to last much longer at this rate.

Daryl knew what it meant when your walls began to flutter around him, a sign you were getting close.

“Gonna cum for me, huh? Pretty baby?”

“Yes, Daryl please… please make me cum..”

It was so damn intimate to say his name when he was doing such filthy things to you, a type of feeling that never came with Spencer. Your cheeks got so much hotter when you’d hear him chuckle each time you moaned his name.

He chuckled, moving his lips off you to watch how easily your walls took two of his fingers, and the slick that covered his hand because of it.

His thumb rubbed over your swollen clit much faster than you were expecting him to, and the friction was just divine. You whimpered again, soaking his hand as your high began to build.

“Daryl… I’m close…”

“Messy baby, so pretty. Want you t’cum for me.”

Your head’s thrown back in pleasure and you can’t feel anything else other than white hot ecstasy as the next drag of his thumb over your clit sends your body jolting and moaning as your orgasm washes over you.

“There you go… Feel good?” he asks, slowing his movements on your bud and his fingers inside you.

“Mhm…”

He watches your chest rise and fall while you ride out the rest of your high, taking his fingers into his mouth to clean them off. The sight alone makes you want to moan again, but then he leans over and kisses you, tasting yourself on his lips.

“Now you’re ready f’me.” he said with a smirk.

Daryl undid his belt, leaving it in the loops of his jeans before unbuttoning them with ease, getting an eyeful of you below him. The drag of his zipper coming down makes just the slightest friction on the length of his erection and he can’t handle the way his body buzzes with want.

Once his cock is freed, he’s quick to shed his shirt and grip himself at the base before leaning over you.

“You need me so bad, isn’t that right?” he whispers in a mocking voice.

Another moan escaped your throat when he inched his tip through your folds and up over your clit, still throbbing from your release moments ago.

“You know I do…” you whimper, “Please, Daryl…”

He lined his throbbing length at your entrance and pinned your hips to the mattress before sinking into you slowly. Doing so with small thrusts, he stretched you wide around his cock.

“Breathe, darlin'… you take me so well.”

He holds still when all of him fits inside, getting you used to his size.

You don’t even get the chance to beg him to move before he pulls his hips back and picks up a quickening pace.

“Oh, fuck…” you moan, and you feel so blissfully lost in the pleasure.

For once you’re not worried about the exact moment to fake your orgasm cause you didn’t need to.

“He never fucked you like this, did he?” Daryl spoke through each thrust of his hips, his tone of voice so low he could’ve been growling.

“N-No… never…” you replied breathily.

“Never as good as how I’m givin’ it to ya, right?”

“Yes, god…”

“That’s right…” he grunted, the wet plap of his hips sounding out in the quiet room.

Your recent orgasm made it much easier for him to drag his cock against your walls, aiming for the same spot he hit so effortlessly with his fingers. When he does, you’re wrapping your hands around his neck and moaning again.

“So big, Daryl…”

Now that was a compliment he’d remember.

“Yeah, baby…” he groans, the drag of his cock in your warmth making his head spin. He’s seeing stars when you clench around him, still sensitive from earlier with how his hips pound into you.

“Fuck…” Daryl moans, moving his slick-ridden cock inside you even quicker now.

“Love the way you feel, Daryl…”

He felt his cock twitch when those words hit his ears, inching closer to his orgasm faster than he could think. You were already close again from the first time you came, peak slowly building as he moved.

“Gonna cum…”

“Me too…”

“Cum with me…”

You reached down to play with your clit, already feeling closer to release.

Each thrust brought him closer to the edge, and when he thought he’d lose control, he pulled out of you. Daryl’s hand worked his swollen cock until he was panting and groaning and spilling over the skin of your stomach.

You came a moment after and let your body ride out its second release of something long pent up.

Daryl immediately let himself collapse on the bed next to you, the both of your breaths steadying for a moment.

“I think you’ve ruined me for anyone else.”

“Stop.” he scoffs.

“I’m serious, Daryl. Thank you for that.”

He took a moment to reach over to grab a spare rag and clean off your skin.

“Y’re welcome. But, my real thanks can be you dumpin’ that boyfriend’a yers ‘fore I come around next.”

“Next?”

“I wanna do that again.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. I mean, unless y’were gonna go back to someone who can’t even make ya cum?” He asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Fair point.” you replied, sitting up and beginning to put your clothes on.

“After this, I don’t think I’d wanna let ya go that easily. Not when you deserve a lot more than what I already gave ya. A whole lot more."

Now he’s got you blushing over his words, and you feel like a teenager again.

“Okay then,” you speak, bashfully.

“Don’t go gettin’ all shy now. I’m just gettin’ started.”

With the way he was looking at you, there was no way to tell what he had in store.

Usually, when Faust gets home from work, you're either curled up on the couch or flitting about in the kitchen trying to surprise him with a home-cooked meal.

It always worried him a little when you weren't waiting for him.

He knew you were home.

Your car was outside, and your bag and shoes were in their regular spot by the door. But the couch was undisturbed, and the only sign you'd been in the kitchen was an open bottle of paracetamol on the counter.

It gave him a pretty good idea of what was going on.

Sure enough, he found you in bed, curled up in a ball and clearly in pain.

"Angel?" He draped his coat over the chair in the corner and sat on the edge of the mattress, running a warm palm over your back. "You alright?"

"No," you grumbled, peeking up at him through your hair. "I got my period."

"I thought so." He nodded solemnly, brushing your hair out of your face softly. "Do you need anything?"

You made a sound that vaguely resembled an 'I don't know', still buried in blankets.

Ignoring your groan in protest, Faust peeled back the blankets and saw that you were still wearing jeans.

He covered you back up and ducked down to press his lips to the side of your head before going into the kitchen to put the kettle on.

When he came back, you hadn't moved.

He grabbed you a pair of shorts and one of his t-shirts, and pulled your blankets away again.

You whined, but stopped when you saw the clothes in his hands.

"C'mon, Angel." Faust nudged you up until you were sitting and helped you get your shirt off, replacing it with one of his band tees.

You couldn't help the sting behind your eyes when he gently peeled off your jeans and dressed you in your favourite comfy shorts.

"Better?" he asked softly, smiling when you nodded begrudgingly. "Good."

He left the room and came back a couple of minutes later with the hot water bottle wrapped in a towel and a mug of your favourite tea.

You made room for him and crawled into his lap with little prompting, sighing in relief when he wrapped his arms around you and held the hot water bottle to your lower abdomen.

"Thank you," You muttered, leaning into his chest. "Missed you."

"I missed you, too, Angel." He smiled into the crown of your head, always surprised by how giddy it still made him to hear you say things like that, even after years together. "Is it helping?"

"Yeah."

"Did you eat anything?"

"I had lunch." You wound your arms around his, knowing what was coming.

"That was hours ago," Faust frowned, trying to get up. "I'll make you something."

"Not yet." You clung to him, whining into his chest, "Just stay here with me."

You could feel him thinking it over.

"Please?" You pulled back to give him the most pitiful, puppy-eyed pout you could muster.

"Don't look at me like that," He groaned, burying his face in your hair. "You have to eat something, Angel. You'll feel better if you do.

"Just a little longer?"

"A little longer."

Ollie would be so sweet and concerned when you’re on your period. You wouldn’t have to lift a finger. Cramps? He’s got a bottle of Tylenol nd a glass of water in his hands within a minute. Migraine? The one and only thing he’ll ever kill the music for. He’d run around shutting all the curtains and turning off the lights so that they aren’t bothering you, then he’d come sit with you in bed and play with your hair until you fell asleep. Craving something sweet? Don’t you worry. This man’s got a secret stash of your favorite snacks hidden away for this precise reason. 

He’ll rub your belly and let you lie on him however you want. He’d even hold a towel-wrapped hot water bottle all night if you can’t get it to stay where you need it to. Ollie would baby the shit out of you and check in on you every five seconds. 

If you woke up to blood stained sheets, mortified, Ollie would run you a bath and change them while you get cleaned up. He’d even put a clean set of pyjamas and a towel in the dryer so that they’re warm when you’re ready to get out. He’d never make you feel embarrassed or act grossed out. 

Will come back from the store with every possible type of feminine hygiene product under the sun if you send him out to fetch you some without being ultra specific. I can picture him giving you a haul when he gets home. Pulling everything out of the plastic grocery bag one by one to show you. No matter how many times you point out the right ones when they come up, he will still panic as soon as he’s standing in the aisle and will proceed to clear the shelves.

Ollie would never ask for sex while you’re on your period. He’d be afraid of making your pain worse or making you uncomfortable. He could go a week every month without sex and live, especially if it meant that you were as happy and comfy as possible. However, if you wanted to do anything, he would immediately be on board. I think he’d be nervous the first time, just because he’d never done it before, but as soon as he feels just how sensitive,  wet, and warm you are, he’s all over it. I could see him keeping a towel folded up in the nightstand just in case you wake up feeling frisky while you’re on your period.

He’d let you pick the music without making any commentary, even when you can tell he desperately wants to tell you that whatever you picked doesn’t really fit the vibe. If you’re not feeling too bad, you might fuck with him a little and play something that you hate and that Ollie knows you hate. You’d sit there with a straight face, bobbing your head like you’re enjoying yourself, and he’d be fully convinced that your period is this magical brain-altering thing that gave you horrible taste in music. But still, he’d keep his mouth shut and force a polite smile and a weak thumbs up when you ask him what he thinks, biting back a laugh.