#daryldixon

You woke to warmth. Not just the kind that came from the scratchy blanket tangled halfway down the bed, but the kind that breathed against your bare skin, slow and steady. Daryl’s arm was slung low across your waist, rough fingertips ghosting over your stomach in lazy, unconscious strokes, his breath brushing the curve of your shoulder. His leg was half-draped over yours, anchoring you to the mattress like he didn’t trust you not to up and leave.

The guard tower wasn’t exactly luxury living, but it had two things you both craved more than a decent mattress—privacy and a lock. After three days of him being gone on a hunting run, privacy had become very necessary.

Your thighs ached. So did your hips. And your voice, judging by the way it cracked the second you tried to clear your throat. Jesus.

You barely managed to blink your eyes open before Daryl stirred behind you, his mouth pressing sleepily to your shoulder blade, then lower—across your spine, trailing kisses like breadcrumbs. You shivered.

“Mornin’,” he rasped, voice all gravel, the low drawl rumbling through your spine as his hand slid up under the blanket to cup your breast—slow, possessive, and so damn familiar it sent a shiver down your aching thighs.

His thumb dragged over your nipple, coaxing it to a hard peak with infuriating gentleness. You sucked in a breath, your body twitching under his as his knee slid between your legs like muscle memory, his hips already starting that lazy grind against your ass.

“Daryl—” your voice broke off in a strained gasp as his teeth found your shoulder, biting down just enough to make your hips jerk. “Oh, fuck—baby…”

He groaned into your skin, rolling his hips again, slower this time, deeper. “One more time, cmon…”

You didn’t have the heart to stop him at first. The heat in your stomach lit fast—your body wanted him, wanted to forget how sore you were and let him take you again just because it felt so good to be under him, with him.

But your thighs trembled, already overworked, and there was a dull, nagging throb in your hip from how hard you’d gripped him last night—maybe from when he’d half-dragged you back up the wall after you’d collapsed around his fingers, begging for more.

“Daryl,” you rasped again, twisting to catch his face with your hand. His eyes were hazy, already half-lost in the feel of you, pupils blown wide as he kissed a slow line down your neck. “I can’t baby—I’m too sore.”

He froze mid-motion, forehead resting against your shoulder, panting quietly. You felt the exact moment guilt settled over him like a wet blanket.

“Shit,” he muttered again, softer this time. “Sorry. Didn’t mean—I thought…”

“You thought right,” you said with a breathless, teasing smile. “I want to. I just physically can’t.”

His face flushed as he leaned up, cupping your jaw to kiss you—slow, apologetic, worshipful. “M’sorry. Just—got home and you were already waitin’ in bed, lookin’ at me like that…”

“I was naked,” you reminded him, laughing weakly.

“Exactly.” He kissed your cheek. “What was I supposed to do? Be a gentleman?”

You laughed again, softer, eyes fluttering shut as he kissed down your chest, nosing at the curve of your breast like he wasn’t ready to let go of the idea just yet.

You turned your head just enough to catch his guilty expression. “Don’t apologize,” you rasped, still half-smiling. “Just… maybe gimme a day to re-learn how to walk.”

You gazed at him then; his hair was a mess—flattened on one side, sticking up on the other, the kind of disaster only deep sleep (and other activities) could make. Yours… probably matched. Longer, wilder, and currently hiding most of your face when you peeked up at him.

“I really thought we were gonna break that bed frame.”

“We did.” He grinned into your skin. “You didn’t hear it snap when I—?”

“Oh my god.”

“Yeah.” He pressed another kiss between your breasts, slow and warm. “Totally worth it.”

His voice softened then, the humor fading just slightly. His lips brushed over the faint bruises he’d left on your ribs, fingertips moving with featherlight reverence like he could soothe the ache from the outside. “You really hurtin’?”

“I feel like I got hit by a truck,” you murmured, combing your fingers through his tangled hair. “A very sexy, grunting truck that doesn’t believe in pacing himself.”

He snorted, the sound muffled against your belly. “Told ya I missed ya.”

“I missed you too,” you said, threading both hands into his hair and tugging gently to guide him back up. “But I swear, if you even look at me with that face right now, I’ll kick you in the balls to even the score.”

He grinned, and gave you one last, lingering kiss—soft and slow, all lips and breath and whispered apology—before finally pulling back and reaching for your shirt. “Alright, alright. You win. But tonight?”

“Tonight I sleep.” You narrowed your eyes at him. “Don’t even think about waking me up with your dick.”

His expression was utterly unrepentant. “I’ll be gentle.”

“You never are.”

“Takes one ta know one,” he muttered against your skin. “I ain’t never seen you like that. Was like you were tryna kill me last night.”

“I think we both tried to kill each other,” you murmured back. “Four times.”

“Five times,” he corrected. “You don’t remember the time where you bit me?”

You blinked, confused. “Bit you?”

He leaned up, pulling his hair back with one hand to reveal a faint purpling crescent just under his jaw. You stared at it.

“I don’t remember that.”

“Oh, I do,” he said with a crooked grin.

You groaned, burying your face into the pillow. “Oh my god I’m so sorry.”

“S’fine,” he said grinning.

Faint now—barely a shadow of purple—but when his fingers brushed that mark, fresh out of bed and still hazed in the best possible way, the memory hit like a fuckin’ freight train.

He could still feel it. The pressure of your teeth sinking into that tender spot where his neck met his shoulder. Not sharp. Not cruel. Just desperate.

You didn’t mean to. You were barely there.

One minute he’d had you on your stomach, cheek pressed into the pillow, hands curled into the sheets like they were the only things keeping you tethered. He was over you, in you, grinding so deep and slow it was less a thrust and more a claiming—rhythmic, relentless. Sweat dripping off his skin onto yours. His thighs snug to the backs of yours, his hand gripping your hip so tight his knuckles ached the next morning.

Your body was boneless, trembling, oversensitive from everything he’d already done to you. He’d taken his time—fingers, mouth, words. Wrecked you soft first. Had you sobbing into his chest with nothing but a hand between your legs and his voice in your ear telling you how good you were, how sweet you tasted, how long he was gonna take his time tonight.

And then he’d flipped you.

And then he sank into you.

He hadn’t even meant to go that deep. But your hips arched into it, seeking more without words. Your mouth had fallen open in a soundless moan. Your hands fluttered—reaching for him, for the pillow, for anything—but settling on nothing. It was like your body couldn’t decide what to hold onto because it was too busy falling apart.

You didn’t say his name. You whimpered it.

And he’d lost it.

“Yeah, baby,” he’d growled into your hair, the tip of his nose dragging along your scalp. “That’s it. Doin’ so good. Attagirl.”

Your only answer was a sob. Not from pain. From need.

And then it happened.

Your head tilted. Just barely.

And your mouth latched onto the side of his neck.

Not hard. Not deep. Just enough to bite. To mark him. To hold onto something solid while your brain turned to static.

It startled him. For half a second, he paused—not his hips, not the thrust—but in his mind. That flicker of shock. Of fuck.

But then he groaned. Deep in his throat. Low.

Because it was you. Biting him like that. Because you were so far gone, so soaked and soft and open for him, that you needed your teeth to ground yourself.

And he couldn’t stop.

Wouldn’t stop.

Your cunt clenched around him like a goddamn vice and he drove into it like he was trying to become part of you. His hand slid up to the base of your neck, not to push you away, but to hold you there. Keep you close. Keep you biting.

You moaned against his skin, mouth still open, teeth still sunk into him like you didn’t even realize what you were doing—like it was just instinct. Just need.

His rhythm picked up. Harsher. Filthier. The slap of skin, the creak of the mattress, your muffled cries against his neck.

“You want it that bad?” he’d rasped, eyes shut, trying to keep himself from blowing then and there. “That gone already, huh baby?”

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t do anything but bite down again, just a little tighter, and whimper something that didn’t even sound like language.

He felt you break around him right there.

Felt the way your whole body tensed. The way you gasped against his neck. The way your walls fluttered around his cock like your body was trying to keep him, pull him deeper, own him.

It undid him.

He buried himself to the hilt, groaning your name into your shoulder, chest caving in with the force of it. It was one of those orgasms that left him shaking—like his body didn’t know how to hold itself up anymore. It felt like it went on forever, the way he kept filling you—

“Daryl?” you mumbled, voice raw and sleep-rough, laced with that hoarse rasp that hadn’t quite left since last night. “You good?”

He flinched, blinking hard—ripped clean out of the memory, the phantom feel of your teeth still tingling beneath his skin. His hand dropped immediately, and he turned slightly, eyes darting anywhere but your bare, tangled figure behind him.

“Yeah. M’fine,” he muttered, clearing his throat a little too fast, a little too loud, like that’d somehow cover up the very obvious problem still tenting the blanket.

You stirred against the sheets, shifting slow and ginger like every muscle ached. “Where’re my clothes?” you croaked, trying to sit up before groaning and falling flat again. “Oh my god. I can’t feel my spine.”

Daryl still couldn’t look at you directly. Not yet. Not while his dick was throbbing against the fabric like it had plans.

Your eyes fluttered open, searching blearily for him. “Daryl?”

He glanced toward the window to avoid the sight of your completely naked body spread out like a goddamn painting—and that’s when he saw it.

Your bra.

Swaying gently from where it had somehow ended up hooked on the balcony railing, one strap dangling out into the open air like it was waving good morning to the world.

He stared at it.

Then blinked.

Then let out the quietest “shit” under his breath.

“What?” you asked, brow furrowed.

He didn’t answer right away. Just scratched the back of his neck and nodded toward the open window. “Uh. Found it.”

You followed his line of sight.

Saw it.

And groaned like someone had punched you in the soul. “Oh no. Tell me that wasn’t out there all night.”

“Dunno,” he muttered, already moving toward the door. “Wind must’a caught it or somethin’…”

“Or you threw it,” you countered, burying your face into the pillow with a muffled scream. “Oh my god.”

He got up, throwing off the blanket and stepping out completely naked without a care in the world, grimacing slightly as the morning sun hit his bare chest. He grabbed the bra and yanked it off the railing like it had personally offended him, muttering, “Least it didn’t land in the fuckin’ tomato patch.”

You saw the moment his mind wandered. He paused there, bare back rising and falling with each deep breath, cock hard and heavy between his legs, bobbing faintly as he stood in the sun.

You watched him cross the tower, completely bare and unbothered, like the sunlight wasn’t striping every muscle of his back in gold. His steps were loose, fluid, still heavy from sleep and the kind of night that left you both bruised and breathless.

Your body ached—hips sore, thighs humming with the kind of exhaustion that edged into satisfaction—but your mouth; that still worked just fine.

And you moved.

Blanket slinking off your skin, your knees dragging slowly over the cold cement floor, crawling towards him like some animal, naked and hungry. You knelt behind him, letting the early light warm your back, and reached around him with both hands—one to steady yourself, the other to wrap around the base of him, hot and pulsing in your grip.

He twitched.

You leaned forward and kissed the tip. Soft, reverent. He didn’t say a word—just braced his palms on the railing and let you have him.

Your lips parted and you took him in slowly, dragging your tongue along the underside, feeling him swell in your mouth as his breath hitched, chest tightening. You worked him deeper, steady strokes of your hand matching the hollow of your cheeks, spit glistening as it slipped down your chin, but you didn’t care. You loved him like this—quiet and coiled, trembling under your touch, too focused on keeping still to remember how to breathe.

And then—

“Daryl?”

The voice struck like a match.

Rick. Of course.

You froze. Only for a second.

He didn’t.

His hands flexed hard on the railing. You felt every muscle in his thighs tense, the sharp pull of his stomach, the way his cock jumped against your tongue.

But he didn’t push you away.

“Yeah?” His voice cracked and he coughed, tried again. “Y-Yeah?”

You didn’t stop. You licked a stripe from base to tip, then sealed your mouth around him again and sucked slow, just to see if he’d twitch. He did.

“What’re you doin’ up there?” Rick called. “Ain’t your shift.”

Daryl’s jaw clenched. You could see it even from below. One hand stayed planted on the railing. The other dropped down to your head, fingers threading into your hair, not to guide you—just to ground himself. You weren’t sure if he was about to come or pass out.

“Laundry,” he said gruffly. “Flew up here.”

You grinned around him. He could feel it.

There was a long beat of silence.

You slid down further, taking him deeper. Your nose bumped his skin, your tongue pressed firm and flat, your hand twisting in rhythm just below your mouth.

“You alright?” Rick’s voice again. “You sound winded.”

“I’m fine,” Daryl bit out, throat straining. “Hot up here. Sun’s right on the damn glass.”

You moaned, low and thick, letting the vibration hit the base of his cock like a shockwave.

His breath stuttered. His hips jolted forward.

And you felt it—the shift.

That sharp tremble that raced up his legs, through his stomach, into his hands. He was close. Fighting it. Losing.

Rick’s voice droned on in the background, something about the southern fence line, something about wood supplies, but Daryl wasn’t listening. Couldn’t.

His grip in your hair tightened—not rough, just desperate. His body hovered on the edge, every muscle locked down, trying to stay still while his cock twitched in your throat.

And then—

Rick turned. Walked away. His boots echoed down the pavement. The sound faded.

Gone. Finally.

And Daryl broke.

He came with a groan that shook loose from his chest like it had been trapped there, hips jerking forward as his release spilled hot and fast down your throat. You took all of it—held him deep, swallowed hard, one hand still moving, coaxing every last twitch from him until he was sagging against the balcony like it was the only thing holding him up.

His breath heaved in ragged gasps, body gleaming with sweat, legs shaking.

You pulled off him with a slick pop, wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, and kissed the sharp jut of his hip.

He looked down at you like he couldn’t decide whether to collapse or kiss you stupid.

You were already smiling.

Still on your knees. Still wrecked from the night before. But pleased. So fucking pleased.

You arched a brow. “Still hot up here?”

He swallowed thickly. “You’re an evil woman.”

You got up, snatched the bra from him, feeling his eyes on you as you walked away. “That’s why ya love me.”

He mumbled in response, something in between a a hum of agreement and ‘shut up’.

He gave you an exasperated look before shaking his head. You just sucked him off and you're acting like it's just another Tuesday?

"It is Tuesday," you said, still smirking.

Had he said that out loud!?

“We didn’t sleep,” he said with a shrug, tugging his pants on. “Ain’t my fault.”

“You’re the one who kept saying ‘just one more time.’”

“Yeah, well…” He looked down at you and gave the softest smile, all warm and wrecked and adoring. “I missed ya.”

You stared up at him for a long second, eyes soft, before reaching out and curling your fingers around his wrist. “I missed you too, Dixon. Just… maybe tonight we try sleep instead of cardio?”

“No promises,” he muttered, bending to kiss you once more—slow, sweet, and maddeningly deep.

He bent to grab his shirt from the chair, the morning light catching the planes of his back — and your breath caught mid-inhale.

“Oh… my god.”

He half-turned, brows drawing together, but you were already moving.

“Turn around,” you murmured, low but firm, your hands already finding his hips and guiding him to face away from you.

The sight made your stomach tighten — angry red lines raked across the breadth of his back, some shallow, some deeper, all raw against his skin, with the faintest shadow of a bite mark blooming at the base of his neck. You stepped in close, the heat radiating off him soaking into your bare skin, your palms smoothing over his sides before trailing up his back, fingertips skimming the raised welts like maybe your touch could erase them.

“Baby… oh my god, does that not hurt?” The words came out soft, almost guilty, your hands still roaming over his skin like you were cataloging every mark.

“Ain’t nothin’,” he said with a shrug, but that casual dismissal only made your chest tighten more.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, stepping around to face him fully. Your hands slid up his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat under your palms, before you hid your face behind them. “I didn’t even realize I—god, that’s embarrassing.”

Before you could retreat, his larger hands closed gently around your wrists, pulling them down until your face was bare to him again. One hand lingered, cradling your jaw, his thumb stroking along your cheek. “Ain’t nothin’,” he repeated, quieter now, like he wanted you to believe it.

You huffed, half-guilty, half-bewildered. “Why didn’t you stop me?”

His other hand slid from your wrist to your hip, holding you close enough that the warmth of his bare chest pressed against yours. “Didn’t wanna,” he muttered, eyes darting away.

Your brows lifted.

“Not ‘cause it hurt—” he rushed to add, gaze skimming over your shoulder, “just… means you were feelin’ good.”

A slow smirk tugged at your mouth, and your hands smoothed up into his hair for just a second before you pulled away toward the shelf.

“Where you goin’?” he asked, following you with his eyes.

“Still getting the aloe,” you tossed over your shoulder.

He scoffed under his breath, but didn’t move — and you caught the faintest hint of a smile, like he wouldn’t mind if you came back and fussed over him some more.

⸻

The midday sun beat down hard against the metal fence as sweat slipped past your temples, soaking into the collar of your shirt. The walkers had been pressing harder against the perimeter lately, enough that the mesh was starting to bend inward, groaning under the weight of too many rotting bodies with just enough instinct left to keep pushing. Reinforcements were long overdue, so the plan now was brute force—wedging thick wooden beams against the metal at key points to keep the wall from collapsing entirely.

“Kenny,” Daryl grunted, his shoulder wedged up beneath the weight of the log, “if you drop this damn thing, I swear—”

“I’m not gonna drop it,” Kenny shot back, clearly straining. “This thing weighs more than a truck.”

“Then maybe you should’ve stayed with the tomato plants,” you muttered as you crouched low, ducking beneath the beam. “Hold it steady—I gotta mark where we need to dig.”

“Yeah, yeah, just make it quick,” Kenny puffed, the whites of his knuckles visible as he shifted his grip.

You dropped to lie down on your back in the dirt, fingers dragging through the dry soil as you carved out a rough guide with the blade of your knife. Daryl’s boot was inches from your head, the edge of his shirt hiked up just enough to expose the shallow curve of his lower back—and the faint red streaks etched into the skin there. Your scratches. Last night’s scratches.

And then there was also the very noticeable bite mark which he had tied a bandana around, which had now shifted to reveal it.

Kenny’s eyes landed on them.

The bite. The scratches.

And then everything went to hell.

“Holy shit—is that a bite?” he barked, his voice slicing through the air like a gunshot.

You didn’t even have time to react. The beam jerked violently in his grip, and before Daryl could rebalance it, the weight tipped sideways—crashing down hard onto your ribcage.

The sound that tore out of you wasn’t quite a scream—it was a crack, and then a wheezing grunt as the air got knocked clean out of your lungs. You folded instantly, body trapped awkwardly beneath the log, head lolling back into the dirt as pain shot like lightning in your torso.

“Shit!” Daryl bellowed, his voice already ragged with fury. “Get it off her!”

A blur of boots surrounded you—Rick, Maggie, Tyreese—all rushing to help. Hands grabbed the beam and heaved, straining against the weight until it finally lifted just enough. Daryl dropped to his knees and yanked you free, cradling your body to his chest like it weighed nothing, like you were made of feathers instead of broken bones.

Kenny staggered backwards, pale and jittery, eyes locked on Daryl. “I—I saw scratches, man! Guys, he's got scratches and a bite!”

“You dropped it on her—’cause of that?” Daryl’s voice was pure fire now, a sharp growl ripping from his throat as he lunged.

Kenny stumbled, tripping over his own feet. “I didn’t mean to—!”

“Daryl!” Rick barked, intercepting just in time, shoving a firm arm across Daryl’s chest before he could close the distance. “That’s enough! Where’d the scratches and the bite come from?”

Everyone froze. All eyes were on him.

Daryl’s jaw was clenched so tight the tendons in his neck stood out, his hands flexing at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them now that he wasn’t throttling someone.

You sucked in a shallow breath from the dirt, ribs screaming, and rasped out, “It was me, alright?”

Confusion rippled through the group.

You forced yourself upright with a grimace, brushing Daryl’s hand off as you tried to sit but failing miserably. You collapsed halfway again, coughing, and Daryl was immediately back beside you, kneeling so close his thigh pressed against your hip.

His voice dropped to that soft gravel only you ever seemed to get. “Hey. You good? Look at me.”

You turned your face toward the sound, your expression pinched but dry-eyed. “Might’ve cracked a rib,” you muttered, only half-joking. “Feels like something’s doing jazz hands in my lung.”

His hand cradled the back of your head gently, fingers weaving into your hair as his thumb brushed along your cheekbone, eyes scanning your face like he needed to memorise every twitch and wince.

“Lemme see,” he murmured, already tugging your shirt up slowly, carefully, as if touching too fast might break you further.

The collective silence behind you stretched long. You were aware of every set of eyes watching as Daryl pushed your shirt up to reveal the angry red welt blooming across your side, his palm skimming up the bare skin of your waist to brace you steady while he looked.

And that was the moment it all clicked—for everyone.

Daryl’s hand was on your bare skin, thumb moving slowly, reverently over the rising bruise like he could soothe it just by touch. The way he held you—tender, intimate, like someone he loved—left no room for confusion.

You caught Rick’s glance toward Maggie, the slight raise of her eyebrows, and Tyreese's shuffling.

Daryl didn’t care.

“You should’ve stayed back,” he muttered, still crouched beside you, still holding your shirt like he hadn’t noticed half your stomach was on display. “Told ya I’d do the damn marking.”

“Yeah, well.” You winced, leaning into his touch. “Didn’t wanna make Kenny feel useless.”

“Think he managed that all on his own.”

“Still gonna punch him?” you asked, breathless but smirking through it.

Daryl’s jaw flexed, his voice low and flat. “Later. Let’s get ya to Hershel.”

Before you could protest, his arm slid around your waist, hauling you up from the dirt like you were weightless. His palm stayed warm and steady at your side, guiding you away without so much as a glance over his shoulder.

The three still by the fence just stared at Kenny.

“What?” Kenny said, holding his hands up. “Hey, how was I supposed to know those were not walker scratches?!”

“Because he got them while he was in the watch tower, dumbass,” Rick muttered.

"But the bite-"

"He would have gotten a fever by now," said Maggie.

Kenny blinked, then his eyebrows shot up like the penny had just dropped. “Ohhh,” he said slowly, a grin spreading. “Ohhh. So that’s what that was. Damn, Dixon—”

From up ahead, without turning around, Daryl growled, “Shut up, Kenny.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing, leaning a little heavier into Daryl’s side. “Guess the secret’s out,” you murmured.

Maybe you could do something about it. No one was close enough to see. The dirt road was long and the car ahead was throwing up a thick cloud of dirt from its tires. 

You glanced over at him. He had a cigarette pinched between his lips and he squinted against the smoke. He gripped the wheel with one scarred hand, the other tapping restlessly against his thigh to the quiet music playing from the stereo. He turned the music up a little before finishing the last drag and flicking it out the window. 

You glanced down to his lap. The worn fabric of his jeans strained just a hint, enough to spark that bold itch you'd been scratching since that first night in his tent. 

“Eyes on the road.” You murmured, your voice low as your hand moved into his lap, your fingers brushing against the seam on the inside of his thigh. 

He sucked in a breath sharp through his teeth, his eyes darting from the rearview mirror to you. “The fuck you doin’? We ain't- shit.” 

His free hand clamped your wrist, but he didn't pull or push you away, he just held you, his fingertips rough against your pulse. 

You leaned in, slowly unbuckling yourself. “Deals a deal. We agreed we could try anything. I wanna try this.” You popped open his buckle and unbuttoned his jeans. 

He was already hard from your few seconds of attention, his length hot and thick, throbbing in your hand after you freed him. His breath hitched in his throat before he growled. “Yer’ fuckin’ crazy, woman.”

“Keep driving.” You leaned over and took him in your mouth, your lips sealing around the tip, your tongue flicking across the precum smeared tip. 

“Goddamnit.” He cursed low, his head thunking against the head rest behind him. His foot stayed steady on the gas somehow, only jolting when you swirled your tongue around the tip.

You hollowed your cheeks and sucked slow on the head before sliding down deeper, pulling a ragged groan from his chest. His hand flew to your hair and grabbed a white-knuckled fistful of it. “Slow. Gonna make me flip this fuckin’ truck.” His hips twitched up, chasing the heat of your mouth. 

You hummed around him, taking him in deeper, drawing a hiss through his gritted teeth. 

He was unraveling fast; shallow breaths heaving in his chest, the truck's speed ticking up a notch before he cursed and eased off. 

You pulled off of him with a sharp pop and sat upright. He looked at you like you'd just kicked a puppy, brows knitted together, jaw dropped as his dick twitched against his shirt. The truck swerved slightly as his foot faltered on the pedal. 

“Wh-” he didn't have time to finish the word before you were unbuttoning your shorts and pulling them down a few inches. You threw a leg over his lap in the tight cab and climbed in his lap, taking a moment to get comfortable against him, your back pressed flush against his chest. 

You felt his warm body beneath and behind you. He was tense all over. 

You only noticed then that the dusty road in front of you was almost empty. He'd been driving behind them so slowly that you couldn't even see them anymore, the dust too thick, them too far ahead. 

“Wait- fuck, gonna crash this damn thing.” He growled, his eyes darting between you in his lap and the road ahead. 

You didn't wait, though. You braced one hand against the dash and leaned up, reaching through your thighs to guide him inside you. You sank down slow and deliberate, savoring the way he gasped and sped back up. 

Inch by inch, you tortured the man until you bottomed out, your ass sinking into his lap. You let out a long moan of satisfaction. There in his truck you didn't need to be quiet. You could be as loud and carefree as you wanted, you could make all the sounds you knew he got off on hearing. 

The second you clenched around him and ground your hips you felt the switch. His stunned worry shattered like glass, replaced by feral hunger. 

“Goddamn- fuckin’ take it then.” He snarled, his accent thick as he gripped your hip with one hand and the wheel with the other. “Greedy bitch.”

You pushed on your feet and held yourself up above him while he bucked up; once, harsh and quick, then again, setting a brutal rhythm from below, the truck jolting forward with each snap of his hips pressing the gas a little more. You ground down to meet him, holding yourself up until your arms shook and you had to let yourself sink back down into his lap. 

“Hold ‘er for me.” He huffed and let go of the wheel to grab your waist. He lifted you a few inches and pounded up into you, holding you up by your hips like you weighed nothing. You bit down against the leather wheel and moaned, the sound choppy from the force of his thrusts. 

His cock dragged deep on every drop, hitting that spot inside you that made your vision blur and your fingers squeeze the steering wheel. He dropped you back down and your back fell against his with a soft thud. 

Sweat slicked your skin from your back pressed against his chest, your bodies warm and damp through shirts, his heartbeat thrumming against your spine. 

A hand roamed up your side, his movements smooth and confident, like it was his own body he was touching and not someone else's. He slid up to your breast, pinching your nipple through the fabric of your shirt, the other slipping between your thighs to rub at your clit with relentless circles, his hips lazily grinding up against you.

You moaned as his fingers rubbed quicker and firmer. You arched your back, letting your head fall back against the headrest for a few seconds before you forced yourself to look at the road again. “Mmm-oh fuck.”

“Yeah, ‘ats it. Keep that purty mouth open. Let me hear it all.” 

His head tipped back as you rolled your hips down on him, and he allowed himself to close his eyes for a few seconds as you steered. 

“Daryl.” You panted, clenching around him as his fingers stalled on your clit. “Don't stop, please don't stop, I-” you choked on your words as his fingers picked back up and brought out your orgasm. 

The feeling of you clenching around him was it for him. He growled and wrapped his free arm around your waist, pulling your body back with him as he leaned back, burying his face in the crook of your neck. He tightened his grip and began pounding up into you again as his orgasm approached. 

“I can't-” you cried, your hands shaking loosely on the wheel. “Daryl I can't-” 

“Let go, I got it. That's it.” He breathed against your skin, his eyes narrowed on the road ahead, his knee replacing your hold on the steering wheel. He held it straight with both knees as you grabbed onto his arm and bucked against his fingers. 

“Daryl, oh my fucking god!” You whimpered, your head thumping back beside his against the headrest. 

“Goddamn.” He panted, bucking up as he spilled inside you. He bit down against the back of your neck and groaned, loud and unfiltered, his hips rocking without rhythm under you. He finished with a long and gutteral “Fuck.” 

The truck swerved again and he laughed, raw and choked as he straightened it back out. “Look.” He grunted, his left hand slipping up to grip the wheel. You followed his finger and saw the blue sedan ahead of you slowly coming back into view. “There they are.” 

You nodded and swallowed hard, still trying to blink away the blur in your eyes. “Thought we lost them.” You breathed. 

“Next time,” he muttered as he gave one last weak roll of his hips, making sure every last drop of him was in you, “M’stoppin’ the truck. Gonna make ya’ forget yer name.” 

That night you met him by the far end or the fence around the Greenes farm property. Everyone was getting settled again, and you had a moment to breathe and speak. 

“Aint there anythin' ya wanted to try?” Daryl muttered around his cigarette, watching the fireflies light up the quiet field. You looked away from the field to watch him instead.

“Like what?”

He shrugged, his eyes darting down to look at you for a second before they flew back to the cow field. “Dunno. First night ya said we could try stuff we always wanted ta’. S’there anythin'?”

“Well…” you trailed off. You were worried asking him to indulge you in your interests would throw him off, given he'd been relatively tame so far.

“I like it a little rough, sometimes.” 

Not just ‘a little’. Far from it. 

“That it?” His chuckle caught you off guard, and so did his further teasing. “What, wan' me to pull your hair?”

“Yeah, basically… Hair pulling, biting, yeah. But, you know, maybe some, uh… choking, spitting, slapping,” you mumbled, not noticing the way his eyes widened, “Maybe some degrading. I've always wanted to try being tied up. Like, completely immobile.”

“Choking?” He repeated, unsure if he heard you correctly. “And slapping? Ya wan’ someone to hit ya’?” The way he fully enunciated the words made your stomach flip.

“I wanna see how it feels. Saw it in porn a few times and it always looked hot.” You shrugged and turned to face him. “We don't have to if you don't wanna. Just listing things I've thought about-”

“Nah, said I'd be down for anythin'. I meant it.” He cut you off after taking a deep drag from his cigarette. “Jus' don't go cryin, or some shit- after I do it.”

“Uh…” You laughed awkwardly. You rocked on the balls of your feet. “I mean. Crying is pretty hot. Right?” 

Daryl stared at you for a few silent seconds. 

You groaned internally and looked away. “Oooookay.”

“It can be. Dunno.” He simply shrugged and looked away. He took a quick puff and muttered again. “Maybe.” 

You had a feeling Daryl would be great at rough sex, but you had no idea how great. After he got used to it he began thoroughly enjoying his new role. If it was anyone else it would've been too much, but it was you, and you loved it. 

So, in turn, he loved it.

A few nights later he'd come home from looking for Sophia. You'd made a comment along the lines of ‘if im too distracting we can put this on pause until you find her’, and you'd never seen the man shake his head so fast. 

“S’fine.” He muttered, following you into his tent after double checking no one had seen you slip in. It was late, everyone was already getting in their tents. His little camp was so far away from the rest of the camp that he doubted they'd be able to make you out even if they were looking. 

“Ya'aint a distraction.” He zipped up the flap behind him and turned to face you. His eyes widened when he saw you were taking your shirt off. “Huh. Shit.”

You grinned and laid back against his pile of blankets and pillows. They still smelled like the house's closet, stale but clean. 

“You were saying?” You teased, tapping the side of your foot against his knee. 

“What?” He furrowed his brows and looked back up to your face.

You giggled and shook your head. “Nevermind. Come here.” You reached your arms out and he crawled forward, not needing to be told twice. 

“So, uh, tell me again what ya’ wanted?” Daryl grunted as he tugged your shorts down your thighs. It was always so endearing the way he needed to clarify your desires to a T, worried about saying or doing the wrong thing. He was still so nervous. 

You lifted your hips to help him take them off, and watched with baited breath as he spread your legs to kneel between them. “I don't want you to be gentle.” You exhaled, biting your lip as he slid a calloused hand up the inside of your thigh. His fingers were clean from washing them inside, he'd even scraped the dirt and blood out from under them. 

“Christ.” He muttered under his breath as he slid his thumb through your folds and felt how wet you were. He rubbed it around your clit a few times before pushing a finger inside you. You gripped the blanket beneath you with both hands and shifted your hips. 

He tested the waters with a swift curl, more force behind it than the night in your tent. Once he saw your eyes roll back he set a quick pace, curling and twisting his finger in ways he couldn't believe felt good to you, unaware that your walls were far less sensitive to pain than his dick. 

He leaned up, pressing the heel of his palm onto your mound, applying pressure to keep your hips still as he worked your insides with that single beautiful finger. 

“Tah-” you gasped, pushing down into his hand, “-talk t’me, please.”

His movements became less precise as he fought to think of something to say. 

He'd only heard men talking dirty in porn, and you'd already told him that porn talk wasn't all that hot, “take it, yeah, take my big fat cock/who owns this pussy” for example. 

“Wha’ do I say?” He whispered. 

“Tell me what you're gonna do to me, what you wanna do to me.” You tried to sound reassuring despite the slowing finger in your pussy. 

He grunted, his brows still furrowed. He looked frantically around the tent as he thought. “Gonna- uh… fuck ya’ real hard, like ya’ asked.” He paused, looking down at you for approval with a red neck. “That… that what ya' need?” 

“Mhm.” You nodded quickly. “I need it so bad.”

He nodded once, looking down at your pelvis. He curled his finger again and swiped his thumb over your clit, drawing a soft whimper from your lips. You rolled your hips, trying to urge him to continue, and took a deep breath. 

“Look so fuckin' good under me like this.” He breathed. His fingers returned to their original pace, and he had you moaning and panting again in seconds. 

“This… pussy-” he whispered the second word, blushing at the way it sounded, “-s’grippin’ me so tight. Like it doesn't wanna let me go. Shit- makes me wanna… pin ya down and hold ya there. Like a… a buck I need to finish off.”

You gasped. If you weren't so horny you might've giggled, but the tone of his voice and the way he was curling his finger inside you had you clenching around it. 

He gave something else a try, remembering you'd specifically mentioned the word ‘degrading’. “Look so good. Right where a dumb bitch like ya’ s’posed ta’ be.” He put emphasis on the curse in a way that sounded almost venomous.

Hearing the words ‘dumb bitch’ come from Daryl Dixon while he had his finger inside you broke the little self respect you had. 

“Mmm, please.” You moaned, clutching at his other bicep, too far gone. “Need it now, please.”

He was easily falling into the role you asked of him from seeing you like that. You were embarrassingly needy after just two minutes of his finger. His fucking finger did this to you. It was an insane boost to his ego and confidence.

“An’ what if I dun’ give it to ya, huh?” Even he was surprised at the words coming from his mouth. “What then? Y’gonna cry? Pretty girl gonna cry? Beg?” He sneered, working his fingers faster. 

Your head spun. All you could do was nod dumbly, your jaw hanging open and your face twisting in pleasure as he fondled your insides. 

“Speak. Lemme hear it. If you wan’ it so bad, then work for it.” 

“Please Daryl! Ooh, pleeeease,” you moaned, “please put it in please, want it so fucking bad.” You sucked in a breath. “I need you, please, I need you to fuck me. Please please please please-”

If anyone other than Daryl heard you mewling like that, they'd instantly think you were the most pathetic whore on earth. The shameless way you were moaning like you were getting paid for it would legitimately send them into a state of shock. 

Daryl ate that shit right up though. He'd never heard anything like that. And definitely never directed at him.

He was ripping his dick out of his jeans before you could say another word, barely giving himself a few quick strokes before lining up to your entrance.

You panted in relief and wiggled your hips against his tip impatiently. You were truly unprepared for how much you'd like this type of sex. It had started as a curiosity, and now here you were, falling apart for him. 

“Quit yer damn squirmin’.” He grunted and placed his heavy hands on your hips, holding you in place against the blanket beneath you. 

A surge of pleasure rocked your core, letting you know that you also did enjoy being immobile.

“Hnnn, god.” You whined. You were fully prepared to start begging again before he started pushing in, finally alleviating your burning ache, replacing it with a much better burning stretch.

“Thaaat's it.” He drawled after sinking into you fully. Your walls were just as greedy as you, pulling him in deeper and squeezing him when he pulled back out. He let out a strained grunt at the feeling, suddenly grateful that he'd jerked off before meeting you outside. 

“Lemme hear it all. Lemme hear ya’.” He pushed in again, his tip bumping against that spot deep within you and making a moan burst from your lips. He lowered his upper half to rest on his elbows, his pelvis rolling forward in steady movements. 

“Feels so good Daryl.” You clenched around him, earning a growl against your ear in return. “Never felt like this before.”

“Hm.” He grunted. “Whaddya want, huh? Tell me.”

Your head fell back against the blanket again after he gave a swift thrust. “Oh, god, I don't- choke me, please.”

He'd been waiting for that. 

Propping himself up on his left elbow, he placed his right hand over your throat. He applied the smallest amount of pressure, just enough to feel your pulse throbbing under his fingertips. Your poor heart was racing. He unintentionally tilted his head as he looked down at you. 

“Harder, please.” The request was so quiet that he barely heard it. You covered his hand with your own and squeezed, desperately trying to get him to oblige you. 

There was slight hesitation, and only for a second, and then he gave in. He flexed his fingers and squeezed, waiting a few beats to hear your whimpers increase, and then he really squeezed. 

You saw stars. His dick was rapidly approaching a brutal pace inside you, his pelvis slapping obscenely against your ass, filling the tent with sounds of sweaty skin on skin that made you blush. He was choking in that specific way that hugged the sides of your throat and cut off blood to your head. 

You were impressed. You'd half expected him to strangle you the way you knew he'd done in fights countless times before and make you pass out. 

He dipped down to kiss your open lips, and growled when you eagerly kissed back. He pushed his tongue past your teeth and swirled it around your own, overcome by the need to taste every inch of you. 

You moaned something in his mouth, and he had to pull back to understand. 

“Bite-” you huffed, “me.”

The way he was so eager to please you was a turn on all on its own. He immediately fulfilled your request, taking your bottom lip between your teeth and biting down. 

You sucked in a gasp through your nose, wrapping your fingers in his hair and tugging as another wave of pleasure ebbed through you. 

He nearly got carried away. He bit your skin behind your jaw, your neck, anywhere he could reach, failing to notice how hard he'd begin choking you. 

The pressure in your face and head combined with his jerky thrusts was more than you could handle, and when he shifted his hips closer to yours and ground against your clit, you came.

“Fuck!” You gasped, clutching onto his hair for dear life. 

Despite knowing what it felt like to have you cum around his dick, it still shook him to feel it again for the third time. His eyes clenched tightly shut and he rammed into you, over and over until his body trembled and his jaw ached from how hard he'd been biting the dip in your neck. 

Each time Daryl made you come was better than the last. 

This time it was crippling. You spasmed around the dick he had stuffed inside you, crying out with a long whine. 

His grip on your throat tightened as he spilled himself down inside you, cutting your sounds of ecstasy short. His thrusts slowed, but they didn't stop, not until you were a babbling mess of overstimulated nerves and cum. 

“Too much, s’too much, stop.” 

“Shut up.” He growled with a quick thrust, one that had the opposite effect. “Quit bein' a baby.” 

Your hips jerked against his touch, rough fingers on your clit, rubbing mercilessly, too much, too sharp, but his body pinned yours to the blanket. 

“Take it- fuckin’ take it.” He growled against your ear, his other hand sliding down to pinch and pull at your nipples. He thrusted again, harder, jerking your body against the blanket. “S’what ya’ wanted, right? S'what ya’ asked for. Gonna make ya’ cry for me, that's right. C'mon girl. C'mon.”

Tears pricked at your eyes as he continued his ruthless assault, fingers rubbing your burning clit, your aching nipples, his teeth nipped and bit at your neck and shoulders, his cock dragged in and out of your fluttering walls. 

“G’na fill this pussy.” He muttered, his hot breath fanning your red neck. “Oh, yeah. That's it. Take it. Take it all. Take this dick.”

You crumpled under him. 

Where'd he learn that? Porn? Or did he make it up on the spot?

Half porn, half imagination. Daryl was a lot smarter than he let on. He was a quick learner, too. 

He snapped his hips forward, fucking you into the blanket with a hand over your mouth as your nosies grew louder. His other hand brought another orgasm out of you, and you came around him, clawing and keening into his palm as he fucked you through it. 

Daryl groaned against your neck, his thrusts speeding up and growing sloppy as he chased his own pleasure. He buried his face in your hair, inhaling the scent of the shampoo Beth had given you. You smelled so pretty, so soft, so feminine. It was such a contrast to his dirty manly musk. He groaned again and came inside you, coating your walls with his second load, his pace relentless even through his climax. 

You were trying to catch your breath when he started moving his hips again.

“Oh-” you choked, pushing at him, “no- Daryl, I can't-”

“Shh.” He rolled his hips again, lazy but deep. “S’all right. Just lay there.”

Only after driving home his point of being able to do whatever he wanted with you did he show mercy. His torturous thrusts ceased, and he spent a few motionless seconds inside you before pulling out. 

You let out a trembling exhale of relief. The empty feeling he left you with was disappointing, even though you realistically knew you'd start sobbing if he put it back in. 

“You okay?”

You forced your eyes open, trying to find him in your bleary fog. He looked so jarringly different, his eyes soft, full of concern and worry, his facial features much more bright. 

You swallowed dryly and nodded. You reached up to push your sweaty hair away from your face. “Was so good. You're amazing.”

He let out a breathy chuckle, dropping his head in relief. “Good. Y’liked it? Not too much?”

“Oh, god yes. I loved it. It wasn't too much at all. Was perfect. So fucking hot.”

He inhaled deeply and nodded, his head still hanging as he caught his breath. 

“Did you like it?” 

You three entered the building, keeping your guard up in case of any straggling walkers that weren't roused by the initial attempts to lure them towards you. The interior wasn't large, so you could comfortably split off from each other and still be close.

“Seems mostly ransacked. Not much left,” Michonne commented, katana lowered but out in front of her. This had begun to grow repetitive and boring, energy matching the grayness of the lighting.

She took a pair of hair cutting shears off the shelf in front of her, holding them up to your gaze a few isles over. “Think he could use these?” She asked as a smile played the edges of her mouth, nodding back towards Daryl, looking for mischief. His hair had grown quite long over the course of the last two years, the tawny blond darkening into a rich brown, accompanied by a shaggy cut.

“Oh definitely. Jus’ gotta determine which onna us can hold him down long enough to cut it,” You replied with a chuckle, eyes following hers to where the archer stood at the endcap of another lane.

“Shuddup, will ya?” Daryl scoffed, shaking his head with grunt. His gaze didn't break from the advertisement in front of him, trying to ignore your antics. “Ts'fine.”

“Gotta make use of whatever supplies we find, no?” You continued your teasing, trying to hide the grin on your face at his reaction. “You were sweatin’ like a pig all summer, hair tangled all over yer face ‘n what not. When was the last time you cut it?”

“Don’ kno’, don’ care,” He grumbled, and you eyed Michonne again. It's definitely been since the prison, at least. He moved on from the stand. “Plus, winter up ‘ere's gon be colder. Will keep me warm.”

“Daryl, you're ‘bout the only one who didn't freshen up since we got to Alexandria. Don't you at least want a trim?” Michonne pestered, raising her eyebrows at him and shifting her weight to one leg. “You remember Rick's whole hobo-beard.”

“Ain't got no ‘hobo-beard’.”

“But you do look like the only ‘scissors’ you know is the recently searched on your go to porn site,” Michonne chaffed, barely able to contain herself.

Daryl froze for just a second, face flushing as his head whipped to stare back at her. And you two burst out laughing, to which his expression soured.

“Give it up, alrigh’?! Ain't nothin’ wrong with mah hair!” He snapped, accent thick with embarrassment, bowing his head slightly in an effort to obscure it. He readjusted his hold on his crossbow. “Gon shoot tha botha ya.”

“Ay, ay! Jus’ sayin’. Rick scrapped the beard and… maybe you'll finally get some play too,” She winked, followed by a lighthearted snicker.

Daryl groaned again and rolled his eyes, beginning to walk off, but caught your gaze for just a second.

It's not that he didn't want to cut his hair - he didn't care about it – but he wasn't really allowed to either way. There was one major, sexy, moaning reason he didn't cut his hair.

❥-》》—————➣

“Oh, god, Daryl! Fuck! Don't stop… god don't stop,” You cried out, hands clutching his shoulders as your nails began to dig into his flesh. His grip on your hips was bruising, keeping you steady as he pounded up into you at a relentless pace. That grip was the sole thing grounding you in the reality of the present moment.

“Ain't gon stop,” He affirmed, voice gravelly. You moaned wildly, head weakly falling to his chest with exacerbated breaths, his own heaving against your temple. He leaned closer when he could, harshly sucking at your clavicle and boobs, leaving behind a litter of hickeys and little bites that colored you in reds and purples.

The springs of the bed beneath you sounded like they were gonna fold in on themselves, headboard sporadically banging against the wall as Daryl shifted down a little to hit into you at an angle, your clit brushing against him with each thrust. Your back arched overtop of him, shoving his dick into your belly.

“Baby, please… fhuuuckkkk.” You couldn't even think, every thought consumed by the feeling of him. The way he just destroyed you like it's an art he'd mastered, tip brushing against every sweet and sensitive spot inside you, walls desperately trying to cling on, balls hitting up against you, clit grinding on him, slickness coating his pelvis and your inner thighs, his clutch on you just so fucking strong.

You pulled yourself together, lifting your head to see him. His long hair was dark and dampened with sweat, matting up as it stuck to his forehead, obscuring part of his vision. But he was too focused on using you to fix it, didn't dare to remove his hands unless God willed him to.

You moved up, swiping it away, and his blue eyes instantly connected with yours, pupils blown with lust. He (somehow) sped up, starting to slam your hips up and down to meet him instead of just keeping them stationary, now just beating your cunt.

“Tha's it girl. Jus’ keep takin’ me good like tha’.”

His words made you shiver, and you partially fell forward again, nestling your face beside his and snaking an arm behind his head. Your fingers weaved through his messy hair, tangling at the scalp, then tugging harshly as another wave of pleasure ripped through you.

And he whined. There it is. His breathy gasps and grunts mingled with strained whines, and whimpers, as you pulled tighter and tighter at the roots of his locks. His face contorted, eyes nearly squeezing shut, that one vein bulging from his neck, directly on the verge of so much.

“Daryl… inside.., Dar-” You panted, cut off as everything went white and you hit your peak. Your whole body felt electrified, tensing, twitching, walls spasming, toes curling and claws clinging to his frame.

Daryl tipped over the edge almost immediately after, having just been waiting for you to cum first. He desperately pumped into you a few more times, before curving up once more and simultaneously ramming you down as he came deep in you, the warmth of his release spreading through your core, and he threw his head back with ragged breaths.

You were both left a sweaty mess, gasping for oxygen, feeling full and satisfied. Your muscles couldn't keep you up, and you collapsed onto him, loosening your hold at his scalp, his hold on your hips doing the same.

He recovered a bit quicker than you, bringing a hand up and brushing your own messy hair away the second he had the energy to do so.

“Ya alrigh’, sunshine?” He asked between hitches, hoping he hadn't been too rough. He soothingly rubbed his palm over the curve of your body where bruises were sure to form.

You nodded faintly, moving your head so you could breathe better, and you could feel him relax beneath you from the reassurance. He held you tenderly for a while, giving you time to regain your composure. Your eyes were closed in bliss. Few things beat the feeling of Daryl under you, rising and falling with his torso, hearing his low humming as he steadied himself – his softening cock still buried deep inside you, cum ever so surely beginning to dribble down.

You lazily remained in his arms, not wanting to deal with getting up, or the shower you two definitely needed. You took a strand of his hair, affectionately curling it around your finger like a tendril, then letting it go and repeating.

“Ya actually want me tah cut ma hair?” He eventually asked, thinking back to your light mocking from earlier, how you'd laughed as Michonne layered it on. It didn't matter much to him, he'd do whatever pleased you.

“Fuck no. Was just messin’ with you, Dixon,” You replied, kissing the skin of his collarbone right below you, and moving up to find his lips. “You know I like it long.”

The long hair suited him, he looked good with it. You loved to wash and play with it, brush and braid it while he laid in your lap. But mainly, it was easy to grab at, pull on – and close to nothing in existence sounded better than those whines and whimpers every time you did so.