#no name

The Walking Dead || Daryl Dixon.

────୨ৎ Pairing; Daryl Dixon x Female!reader | no mention of reader name.

Setting; Season one, CDC era.

Warnings; 18+ storyline with smut, use of sexual terms, oral (male receiving), sexual content, no use of protection. Just smut. I never know how to end smut so sorry if it sucks LMAO. Later season looking Daryl.

Please like, comment, reblog and share with friends!! Every interaction is appreciated. I will NOT tolerate hate or bad words. Anything in that nature will be deleted.

You are responsible for the media you consume.

────୨ৎ Author’s note; This is for you, bestie ♥️ I know how much you love this musty man. @tunnel-snakesss-rule not proofread.

Requests - OPEN

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Word count; 1.8k

DARYL'S HYGIENE WASN'T EXACTLY IMPRESSIVE.- He wasn't a complete mess, just the kind of guy who, after a bath somehow manages to get dirt all over himself within minutes, like a toddler left unattended in a yard. Dust clung to him, grime seemed to follow him, and honestly? He didn't seem to care much either.

But neither did I.

Maybe it was the way we grew up, both of us shaped by rough edges and rougher hands. Trailer park trash where nothing was ever too filthy to use when you had to. But when we finally stumbled into the CDC and saw the steaming showers waiting, I knew I'd be losing myself in them longer than anyone was allowed. Washing off the grime, the blood, the fear and the weight of everything we'd already lost.

And Daryl would be joining me, without question. One way or another.

"Oh god," I moaned, my voice swallowed by the hiss of the shower overhead. The water ran hot, the type of temperature that made you want to stand and turn like a rotisserie chicken. It dribbled down my skin in uneven streams while grey soapy suds spiralled down the square drain in the centre of the wet room.

I wrapped my arms around myself, fingers digging into my shoulders as I stood beneath the sputtering spray. For a moment, I let my eyes close. Outside these walls were walkers, blood, death and the constant groaning nightmare of the world we have all inherited.

But in here, we could relax. Let loose, even just for a moment. "Come on, Daryl. just five minutes." I teased softly, leaning into the running water. Steam curled around me as I pushed wet strands of hair from my face. Daryl stood by the door in nothing but his boxers, arms crossed tight over his chest like he didn't quite know what to do with himself.

"Nah," he muttered gruffly. "Don't need no damn wash." His eyes dragged slowly over every inch of me. Every scar, every bruise faded yellow from weeks on the road, every rough edge this new world had carved into me. His stare never stayed too long in one place, like he was scared I'd catch him looking too hard, but he didn't miss a thing either.

"Like what you see?" I asked, biting lightly at the edge of my thumbnail as the steam continued to curl around me. He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head as he turned towards the bedroom. "You somethin' else," he muttered.

My gaze lingered shamelessly as he walked away, catching the tight flex of his muscles, the broad line of his shoulder and the slow sway of his stride as he walked away. Even after weeks on the road, covered in dirt and blood half the time, Daryl still carried himself with that restless strength that pulled at me.

God, he was stubborn.

I waited until he disappeared around the corner. Then, I moved, slipping back towards the shower, grabbing a forgotten shampoo bottle from the bench before squeezing myself into the narrow corner beside the doorway, hidden by a curtain of steam.

Cold tiles pressed against my back as I carefully lifted the bottle in my hand, meaning to toss it lightly to get Daryl's attention. Instead, my fingers slipped. The bottle flew straight from my grasp and slammed hard against the opposite wall with a sharp crack before clattering across the wet floor.

"Shit." I winced instantly.

Silence lasted all of two seconds before the heavy stomp of Daryl marching back towards the shower echoed through the room. "The hell was that?" He barked.

Panic rushed through me as I pressed flatter against the wall, my pulse thudding so hard it drowned out the distant hum of the generators. Footsteps echoed before he stepped back inside. His sharp blue eyes swept over the floor once before landing on me tucked close to the doorway. One corner of his mouth twitched upward. "You serious right now?" He muttered, voice low and rough. "You hidin' from me?"

Heat crawled straight to my face. "Maybe," I admitted. "Listen, it went a lot smoother in my head." A gravelly laugh escaped him as he shook his head "worst damn ambush I ever seen."

"Yeah, well," I shot back, stepping away from the wall, "you keep runnin' away from me."

“Ain't runnin’," he grumbled. Avoiding my eyes. "Just don't need one'a them fancy CDC showers." I raised a brow. "Could've fooled me."

Before he could brush past, I moved in front of the exit. The fluorescent lights flickering above us, casting shadows across his face while he stared me down with a stubborn expression. "Move," he muttered.

"Nah."

I stepped closer towards him, and he instinctively backed further into to the room, towards the shower where the once clear water now ran brown. Each step sank his feet a little deeper into the water pooling on the floor. Soon, his back pressed against the cold metal faucets and the first rivulets began to soak the ends of his hair.

"See, ain't so bad, huh?" I teased, letting a small smirk tug at my lips.

He just stared at me, chest heaving, jaw tight, refusing to speak. But I could see it. Subtle, tiny signs of surrender. Maybe he didn't want to admit it, but the water was working its magic, running down him, washing away the grime that clung to him for far too long.

Even Daryl couldn't fight a little relief.

I knew he couldn't.

I bent down and scooped up a bar of soap, letting a thick lather coat the loofah. "What're ya-" his voice cut off as I lifted my eyes to his, a quiet warning in my gaze. "Relax," I said, the single word enough to ease the tension.

My hand moved slowly over his back, rubbing the soap in gentle, circular strokes. I could feel the tension on his shoulders, the way he braced for something he'd long since learnt to expect. I lingered on the jagged lines of old scars, and he stiffened for a heartbeat. But, the moment pass, replaced by the trust he reserved for me alone.

No one else had ever been allowed this close.

The last of the soap slid down the drain, carrying the dirt and sweat with it. I let the loofah fall to the tiles with a soft clatter before stepping closer, easing my arms around his middle and resting my cheek against the warmth of his back. He went still at first, like he didn't quite know what to do with tenderness when it came without strings attached. Then slowly, carefully, his hands settled over my arms, rough palms curing around my elbows as he leant back into me.

I moved around until we were face to face, the water slipping between us in a thin stream. My voice dropped low, barely louder than the spray around us "think I should reward ya for being good?" I looked up at him through wet lashes, catching the way his breath hitched. His throat worked hard beneath the scape of stubble, Adam's apple bobbing as his eyes drifted downward, following the single droplets that fell in beads along my breast.

A crimson colour crept into his cheeks, subtle but there all the same. Daryl Dixon wasn't a man used to praise, least of all the soft kind. But the way he looked at me made it clear he didn't hate it nearly as much as he pretended to.

My forefingers hooked at the waistband of his boxers, tugging lightly as the water clung stubbornly to the fabric. Gradually, I began to sink, my knees bending with ease and his boxers following suit.

I settled back, my ass propped against the heels of my feet. My eyes watching over his length with hunger. Slowly, I lifted to meet his gaze, letting a flicker of unspoken understanding pass between us. My hand wrapped around his length lazily, slapping it against my tongue again and again.

A moan of frustration slipped from Daryl's lip as I stroked down the length of his shaft, my thumb swiping up the beads of pre-cum glistening at the tip of his hard, flushed cock. My mouth began watering in anticipation, my tongue stuck out again as I wiped off his essence from my thumb.

His hand tangled knots into my hair, a way of easing himself into the pleasure. "Fuck," he whimpered out, voice barely more than a rasp, rough and strained. He ducked his head, letting his hair fall over his eyes, hiding the way a crooked grin tugged at his mouth.

I began slow, savouring him inch by inch. The corners of my mouth spilling with drool. My tongue ran from the base to the tip in repeated motions as I cupped and massaged his balls with my free hand.

"Don't stop, plea-" the words stuttered and died short, caught somewhere between pride and desperation. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear Daryl Dixon was begging. His grip tightened on my head, pushing me down deeper until the tip of my nose pressed against his abdomen.

My tongue rolled around his shaft feeling each and every vein that ran through him. I looked up at him with doe eyes, glassy from the unexpected push from him. And that was enough.

When the taste turned salty, I picked up the pace. My cheeks hollowed, my grip on him getting stronger. My knuckles turned white as I rested them against his thighs for leverage against the slippery droplets still falling from the shower behind us.

Daryl's groans got louder, broken and I knew he was close to his release. His hand guided me back and forth, every thrusts got sloppier as he felt the euphoria pilling up. Finally he bowed under the weight of his own desire.

Spilling his seed into the back of my throat with a last whimper. As he pulled away, we both fell into ragged breaths, trying to catch them like we'd just ran for miles. He lifted a hand to my cheek, rough palm cupping the soft curve of it. His thumb brushed slowly over my skin, dragging across my lips before gently tipping my chin up.

His eyes lingered there for a second, fixed on my mouth like he was hesitating over something he couldn't quite say. Then, he leant in, bending over, pressing a slow, careful kiss against my swollen lips.

"Next time, no arguments, hum?"

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Previous short - We see you, Daryl Dixon.

Why argue when can be poly?

no name by carrrrino

I replayed LRC recently and was just curious about who the character on Mary's game console was. Sorry if this has been answered already!!

He hasn't been formally introduced anywhere, but I have posted him before!

This is No Name, he's a wolf! I'm still figuring out his lore a bit since a lot of things have changed since I made him, but I love him lots <3