toot

Rick has a problem - and that problem is you. 

Which, okay - he feels fucking bad for even thinking that. You’re not a problem in the general sense of the word. He doesn't resent you, he doesn’t think you’re annoying, and he doesn’t dislike you. In fact, the opposite is true. 

He likes you a little too much, and that’s the fucking problem. 

He’s supposed to protect you. He’s supposed to keep you safe, keep you alive, make sure nothing happens to you - it’s his job to look after you. Rick swore to your father on his death bed, after a supply run gone wrong, that he’d be around to help you make the best out of life in this new, fucked up world; and he’s really fucking trying, but it’s hard. 

Rick doesn’t regret taking on that responsibility. Not at all. He’s known you for long enough now, knows that you’re a smart girl, and when your father died he didn’t want his friend’s final thoughts to be worries about what would happen to his daughter now that he wouldn’t be alive to look out for her. 

Gripping your father’s hand, Rick had tried to hold back tears. Your dad was a good man, strong, and more than losing a valuable member of the group - Rick was losing a friend. If your father’s death was that painful for him, after only knowing one another for a little over a year - he couldn’t imagine what you were going through. You’d always been close to your father, and the look in your eyes when you had to leave the room so someone could take care of him before he turned into a walker, well. Rick would never forget it.

Heartbreaking. 

Before your father was gone, Rick promised him that he would protect you. Yeah, you’re a grown woman, smart and strong just like your dad, with a good head on your shoulders and a helpful, fighting spirit. But even though you’re an adult, you’re still young, with the kind of reckless abandon and bravery that only the youth still have; the kind that’s constantly getting them into trouble. 

So Rick assured your dad, holding onto his hand as he took his final breaths, that nothing would happen to you. That he’d take care of you, look after you like you were his own daughter. It was the right thing to do, the good thing to do - 

But Rick didn’t anticipate how hard you’d make it for him to fulfill that promise. 

He didn’t think you’d be so, so. God, he doesn’t even fucking know. He doesn’t want to use the word to describe you, because you’re an adult, not a petulant kid - 

But you’re a fucking brat. 

He’s not sure if you’ve always been like this, and your dad was just able to calm you down enough so that the rest of the group didn’t notice, or if it’s a new thing you’re dealing with from the grief and the life changes that losing your father brought on. 

Rick’s not a psychiatrist. He doesn’t know enough about the moods of women to even attempt to get through to you, and he doesn’t have the nerve to ask you to fix your attitude when life these last few years has been full of constant, challenging changes for everyone - and he especially doesn’t want to ask for help or guidance from anyone else regarding these problems, because that would mean admitting he can’t control or handle the responsibility of keeping a young woman in check. 

He’s led a group of people through an apocalypse of the walking dead, and he’s letting a twenty something year old in pink sneakers get under his skin with an eye roll? 

No. He’d never admit to that.

Even if it’s obvious to anyone who sees the two of you interacting. 

Right now, Rick’s sitting in a chair on the porch of his home in Alexandria. It’s bittersweet, to have a semblance of normalcy. Had the group found this community back when your father was alive, he never would’ve died. Would’ve never had to make that risky supply run looking for something to help your fever and headache that led to him getting bit by a walker and ultimately dying. 

Having to be killed just to put him out of his misery. 

Rick’s trying to enjoy the feeling of normal on this porch, surrounded by his friends that are so close they’re like family - but deep down he knows that things will never be the way they were before the world went to shit. And the things he’s done, the things you all have done - they happened, and none of you can pretend that they didn’t. Life, every single one of you - will never, ever be the way it was before. 

He’s drinking a beer - okay, he’s on his third, trying not to let the negative thoughts weigh him down. The last thing he wants to do is flip the switch like he did last year, the one that turned him into a raging lunatic, so bad that Daryl had to beat his ass when he started to turn into someone he didn’t know. Back when he was a danger to himself and others. That can’t happen now. 

Not when he’s got a community of people to look out for. Not when he’s got you to care for. A clear head, enough mental agility to make rational decisions - Rick owes everyone that. He owes the group that. He owes you that. 

But why do you have to make his life so damn difficult? 

There’s a party in the community tonight, and even though Rick is more or less in charge of this place, this get-together wasn’t his idea. He would never plan something like this, even back when he was married and just a small town cop. Before walkers and danger lurked at every fucking corner. 

Rick can pretend all he wants, that he fits in or that this normal shit, a sort of block party in this case, was anything he missed, but it’s a lie. 

He’s hardened from all the time he’s spent outside - but he wants the rest of the group to try. To want this. This has always been the goal, the plan. Finding and living in a place like Alexandria. Right? 

So he’s on the sidelines, sipping beer and watching the rest of his group learn how to be proper humans again. It’s an outdoor thing, with kids in the community running around and food made with actual ovens and stoves, alcohol that’s poured into glasses and cups instead of sipped out of a dirty bottle found in a stranger’s leftover backpack while on the road.  

The street is blocked off with picnic tables and everyone’s being a touch too loud for this event to be considered safe, but Rick’s not going to ruin their fun yet. 

Because he’s watching the group - but his eyes keep falling on you. 

Just to make sure you’re okay, he tells himself, but in his tipsy mind he knows that’s a lie. 

You look damn good in the dress you’re wearing. 

To be fair, despite the filth and the starvation and the level of grime every single person in the group wore for months straight, you’ve always looked good. You’re beautiful, even when you’re covered in dirt without a trace of makeup on your face. Some women just have it, the type of body that fills out clothes like everything is made for them to wear. The kind of face, features - the raw kind of beauty that’s appealing even in the middle of the apocalypse. 

That’s you, Rick thinks, and he wonders why you chose to wear such a cute little number to this party when the rest of the women are wearing long pants. 

Maybe you’re doing it on purpose. Maybe you’re - 

Rick wants to slap himself in the face. He’s been feeling that urge, to get himself in check, whenever he thinks about you these days. 

He promised your father that he’d look out for you. Keep you safe. Protect you. Yet here he is, catching himself checking you out again, because yeah, this is definitely not the first time he’s noticed your figure. 

Your father - Rick truly considered him a close friend, and he blames himself for the miscommunication that ended up with him promising to look out for you like you were his own daughter. Your father just knew that Rick cared about you, which is true. Saw the way he was always willing to protect you, to defend you, to make sure you were taken care of. 

Must’ve noticed the long talks you two had, saw the way Rick so helpfully taught you how to shoot a gun without wasting all the bullets. The way he let you wear his shirt one day, because it was the only extra after getting caught in a storm and your own shirt was soaking wet, sticking to your body and - 

Holy fuck, Rick thinks, finishing off his beer and slamming it down a little too harshly. He can’t think about that. Can’t think about the way your tits looked in that wet shirt, the way your body felt, warm and soft when he pressed up behind you and gripped your hand, showing you how to properly use a gun. The way you hugged him, cuddled into his side while he gave you advice and you had your long talks, because you wanted the wisdom of someone mature who wasn’t your father. 

He’s not a bad man, he swears. Rick’s never been attracted to a woman as young as you at his age, and he hates himself for it. It’s wrong, but he can’t deny the magnetic attraction he feels when he looks at you, thinks about you, is around you. It’s chemical. 

Plus, he reasons to himself, trying to avert his eyes when you bend down to pick up something off the ground. That dress is way too short, and although Rick really isn’t looking (lie), someone else notices, and Carol steps behind you to hide the free view of your purple, little panties that you’re giving every man at this outdoor party. 

Rick doesn’t know if he should thank Carol for covering you up or tell her to move. 

Your father - he must’ve misread those moments between the two of you. Thought, because of your age difference, that Rick was just being fatherly towards you - because any man his age with a conscience would never be attracted to a woman as young as you. It probably didn’t even cross your father’s mind that Rick thought of you as anything other than his friend’s daughter. 

Which makes him feel even worse. 

You’re not bent over anymore, and you and Carol share a laugh about the length of your dress while Rosita teases you and Maggie walks over with two glass bottles of beer in her hands. You’re quite the social butterfly.

Rick can’t hear clearly, but he thinks he makes out someone asking where he is, and you spin around looking for him, looking so cute and clueless and Rick hates himself even more because why is that confused look on your face so fucking cute? 

When you spot him on his porch, you point and then grin. Like he’s your favorite person and he’s been lost for much too long and you’re so excited to finally find him - when in reality, you just haven’t spoken in maybe thirty minutes. Rick doesn’t know why you’re smiling so big looking at him, but he can’t deny the way it warms him up. His face, his neck, a good feeling that spreads down his chest and goes directly to his cock. 

You wave, all happy, with a little bounce in your step when you raise on your toes to properly see him over the porch railing, and Rick is so fond it makes him sick. The wave, the pretty smile, the enthusiasm. It makes you look so young, so beautiful, and Rick can’t stand how much he likes it. 

How much he likes you. 

He waves back, just as Maggie comes up the porch steps and hands him another beer. She asks if he’s going to join the party soon, or if he’s playing the part of Daryl since even the lone wolf himself is sitting with a few other people at a picnic table, although his face is deadpanned and he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. Rick laughs. 

When Maggie walks off, Rick notices that you’re still watching him. Not at all listening to whatever Carol and Rosita are talking about. It’s like you were waiting, to capture his attention again - and once you have it, that smile returns and you blow him a kiss. 

And Rick? God, he’s such a fucking idiot. He feels like such a creep. But it’s not like he can ignore you, because what kind of person would do that? You’re just being sweet. That’s all. And he’s just excited because your sweetness is a nice break from how fucking bratty you’ve been all week. 

Rick repeats that excuse in his mind like a mantra.

He pretends to grab the kiss, face red at how juvenile this is, and then he blows one back. He’s drunk now, he’s sure of it, and he’s embarrassed that he’s even playing this game with you.  

But you look so satisfied when you grab his kiss, and you hold it in your palm and don’t open your hand, like you’re saving it. And that - goddamnit. Rick’s going crazy. You’re too fucking sweet, you’re too fucking pretty, you’re too fucking good for him and you’re too young for him and -

Rick catches Daryl’s eyes over the porch. It’s hard to read him, but it’s pretty clear he saw that. The exchange. The way he looks between the two of you, the little tilt of the corner of his mouth. He knows - he knows something. 

Rick tips his new beer back and swallows, shaking his head. 

Yeah. He’s got a fucking problem, alright.

────

Daryl is not this guy. 

This guy, being the kind of man that thinks about a woman your age in an inappropriate way. It’s unlike him - but it’s unlike him to think about romance and sex at all, to be honest. He’s always been too busy for that shit. Too busy surviving, taking care of himself. At the end of a long day, all he can think about is going to sleep so he can do this human and living shit again the next morning. 

And that was before the fucking apocalypse of walkers. 

After the world was overrun with them, romance and sex were even further out of his mind. Nothing hot about sneaking off in the woods or to an abandoned building to fuck in a room that smells like decaying bodies. Daryl has no idea how Maggie and Glenn do it, can’t believe that Rosita once let Abraham fuck her on the floor of an old church they were staying in, with walker guys splattered on the wall next to them. 

Which is saying a lot, because Daryl doesn’t even have a weak stomach. Doesn’t get grossed out by things most grown men would have a fit over. It’s not his style. He just can’t picture ever wanting to fuck bad enough that he’d do it while living in a world like this. He doesn’t think with his dick - fuck, the truth is? Sometimes he used to wonder if it even still worked after all the shit he’s been through. 

But...things have changed since the group got to Alexandria. After a few months, with no starving and with a pillow and a mattress to sleep on, being able to close both eyes instead of just one during the night - Daryl is starting to notice that his priorities are changing. Bit by bit everyday, he’s slowly turning into someone he doesn’t recognize - and that scares him. 

It terrifies him. 

Alexandria is nicer than any place Daryl has ever lived before - like, way nicer. Before the apocalypse, he’d never even be allowed within fifty miles of a community like this, he thinks. There’s running water, warm water, and he’s starting to get a little scared that he, along with everyone else from his group, are getting a little too used to these luxuries. 

He finds himself waking up with a hard cock whenever he sleeps in his own bed. That’s the first sign that his body is adjusting to...comfort? Every single morning, without fail, he’s hard. Except when he goes on his recruiting runs with Aaron and he’s forced back into a tent on the cold ground. But when he comes back from those runs, it doesn't matter how many days he’s been gone, the next morning in his own bed always means he’s going to have to change his boxers. 

Can’t exactly go around Alexandria with his precum dried in his pants. 

Daryl doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like, this, this - what does he even call this? Health? Finally feeling like he belongs somewhere, so his body can let down its guard? 

He’s worried, about what that means, because as nice as this new little community is for everyone - it might not last. That’s a total possibility, and he’s getting way too soft with all this hot coffee with creamer and warm meals and electricity. Fuck this place (he thinks, somewhat fondly). 

So, Daryl’s fighting back. 

As of late, he’s starting to refuse getting used to this place. Will go a week without a warm meal and will head straight out to the woods to eat a raw squirrel or frog whenever he finds himself excited about spaghetti for dinner. If he finds himself jacking off under the warm water in his shower, eyes closed while he enjoys the smell of eucalyptus from his bar of soap - he’ll curse and hop right out, head straight back into the woods to rub dirt on his clothes and get mud under his nails again. What kind of fucking man notices the smell of his soap? 

A man that dies when things get bad again. That’s who. No, Daryl cannot have that happen. Fucking stupid soap. 

He throws it in the trash can and goes back to the almost gone, orange and white looking bar he’s used for the last year. Unscented. 

But everything he’s doing - there’s just no point. No matter what Daryl does, how uncomfortable he makes his own life, his dick is still getting hard. 

He got mad at Rosita during breakfast the other day for wearing those fucking tiny shorts of hers. He’s not even attracted to her - she’s not his type at all, and then when Tara joined them at the table, obviously not wearing a bra, Daryl cursed at them and stormed off. Told them to put on some fucking clothes. He doesn't think either of them are particularly hot, but his dick does. Sees a pair of long legs these days, a jiggle of breast, the round shape of a woman’s ass - fuck, the color pink, and his fucking cock is ready to go. 

Daryl can’t even remember the last time he had sex. Because sex doesn’t really matter these days, and Daryl doesn’t want it to matter. He doesn’t want manners to matter either, which is why he won’t even join the rest of the house for dinner after he caught himself putting a napkin on his lap. He can hear Merle’s voice in his head when he remembers to chew with his mouth closed - goddamn, he’s supposed to be a survivalist. Not a suburban douche. 

Obviously, he’s going fucking crazy. He would say he’s having a hard time adjusting - but it’s kind of the opposite. Daryl’s adjusting to life in Alexandria much easier than he expected, and that’s what’s crazy. 

And you - that’s where his real problem comes in. You’re driving him fucking insane. 

You’re living in the same house as him, you’re constantly around, and Daryl doesn’t know what to do with the emotions you bring out in him. He tries to avoid you as much as possible, but you’re always around the corner, usually seeking him out. When thoughts start swirling around in his head, his stomach, his dick, all of them relating back to you, he tries to drown them out with beer or something harder, tries to distract himself, tries to tire himself out so he has no room or time to think about you. 

But he’s starting to realize that, unfortunately, the only way to get you out of his mind is through his dick. And that’s only a temporary solution, before he sees you do something else that’s sexy, like existing, and he’s back to where he started. 

Wraps a fist around his cock in the middle of the night, jerking himself off to the thought of you, biting the inside of his cheek so nobody else in the house can hear him - cheap ass new construction with the thin ass walls. Everything pisses Daryl off these days, but maybe he just needs to get laid. 

But deep down - he thinks, no, knows - that his problem is you. 

When Daryl first met you, he didn’t like you. Thought you were annoying, saw your girly appearance and assumed you’d be a dead weight to the rest of the group, but your father was someone that the group would be lucky to have. Military training, big and strong and smart. Daryl loved that guy, almost as much as he cares about Rick - and he was devastated when he passed. If someone like your dad could die, it meant anyone could, but watching the way you handled yourself after his passing made Daryl really start to think of you differently. 

He started to respect you. See you beyond just a pretty package that talks too much and wastes too much water and snores so fucking loud you’re like a siren alerting the walkers right to everyone, at least before the group arrived behind these walls. You’ve, in a way…grown up? Right before his eyes. You’re kind, you’re pretty helpful when you want to be, you’re smart, even if you play up the ditzy princess role for attention, and Daryl’s not actually not sure how old you are, just that you’re in your early twenties, and, well. 

You’re fucking hot. Look like a woman from the posters Merle would hang up on his bedroom walls back when he was still alive. Daryl never did any shit like that, feels bad even noticing your beauty, but, hell - 

He’s definitely not the only one. 

He walks into the living room, because he has to if he wants to get to the front door. Daryl wants air, and you keep lighting fucking candles that some dumbass gave you as a welcome gift in the community, and they smell too sweet and they make his throat itch, and the smell fucking wafts up to his room. Daryl wants to smoke, too scared of Carol bitching at him again if she sees him from the house next door, out his window, putting his cigarette out on the freshly painted window pane. Women. Toxic fucking candles are cool, but cigarettes, a necessity that's almost as important as water, are a no go? Utter bullshit. 

Daryl’s already dreading having to interact with you when he sees you on the couch. You’re sitting criss-cross, in a dress, and at this point he thinks you have to be trying to show off, but maybe not.

Why would you? Not like you’re around a bunch of young dudes or anything. Maybe you’re just that comfortable around the people in the house, and if that’s the case, well - that makes Daryl a little happy. You annoy him, sure - but he cares about you like he does everyone from his original group. 

Wouldn’t hurt you to put a bra on or close your legs more often though. Better yet - close the fucking door to the bathroom when you take a shower. Daryl’s getting heated, in more ways than one, just thinking about your carelessness. 

Rick’s sitting on the couch next to you, his elbow resting on the arm of the sofa, his head halfway in his hand. You - you’re chatting his ear off, as you always do. “It’s kinda keto, you know? Eating just meat. That’s partly why we’re all in such good shape, Rick. I swear with all this pasta and canned food we’ve been eating since we got here, I’m going to gain a million pounds,” you stop when you notice that Daryl walks in. Rick looks up, lifts his hand in a meek greeting at him, and attempts to say something but you cut him off. 

“I was just telling Rick about the keto diet. You know, just meat, no carbs. You’re sort of keto, Daryl, before we got here at least, it’s-” Daryl cuts you off. He doesn’t want to get involved. Doesn’t want to look you in your pretty eyes and feed into whatever fucking verbal whirlwind you’re on about, because someone really shouldn’t let you drink coffee but you’re too damn grown to have someone monitor your caffeine intake, but he literally can’t stop himself. 

“What the fuck ‘re you talkin’ about?” He deadpans. “I’ve never been on no fucking diet.” Rick snorts in reply, and you smack him on the arm. 

“Hey,” Rick warns, voice a little too loud and too stern for the move. You’re pretty tiny - not like your violence could hurt him, but you turn your pretty pout into a neutral expression at his scolding anyway. “Enough. Stop worryin’ about gaining weight, and just be happy you’re alive,” he reprimands, shaking his head. 

This time, you scoff. “It’s a joke, Rick,” you mutter, suddenly uncomfortable with your vulnerable sitting position. You shift and sit normally, but there's still way too much skin on display in a room with two men twice your age. You cross one leg over the other. Daryl’s drawn to the soft skin of your thighs, your little foot in a bright white sock, the bottom a little dirty.

He sees Rick literally shift his position to get a better view of you sulking. Arms crossed, which inadvertently pushes your tits up and makes them sit high. Where the fuck did you even get a dress like that? What suburban mother in this neighborhood had clothes for - 

Nah. Daryl’s not going to go there. You look good, and he’s not the only one who thinks so. 

But that’s obvious. Everyone around Rick, around you, around you two together can see it. Daryl hopes he’s not that fucking obvious. The funny thing is - Rick thinks he’s slick. That nobody else sees the way he’s all starry-eyed, like a fucking cartoon character whenever you’re around. 

He pretends like he hates it, shouldering the responsibility of looking out for you. Like he can’t stand all the cute little knick knacks you’ve managed to collect from the other women in Alexandria, scattered around the house, like he’s so annoyed when you ask to sleep in his room whenever the amount of walkers at the gate gets so big the entire community can hear them while they sleep, like he’s bothered whenever you get tipsy and fit yourself right next to him, warm body pressed into his side. Ask him to open jars for you like you’re not strong enough, when everyone’s seen you bash a walker’s head in with an empty wine bottle and kill a bird with a stick for something to eat.

The best one, was when Rick made a huge commotion about having to teach you how to shoot a gun, as if you weren’t the daughter of a former military legend who managed to survive this long. Daryl actually laughed at that, wondered if you were truly playing Rick, or if he knew your incompetence was just a lie to get closer to him, and he played along because he wanted the excuse just as much as you.

You play the role well, Daryl will give you that. Whenever Rick comes around, you’re…softer. Sweeter. You play dumb. Daryl doesn’t know why, although maybe he does, just doesn’t wanna admit it because it’s wrong. 

Isn’t it? Or maybe he’s just fucked up. Maybe you really do see Rick as a sort of surrogate father figure since your dad is gone, and if that’s the case, well - it makes sense that you might try to make yourself seem like you need him. Maybe you really do. What the fuck does Daryl know? 

Just kind of weird, ‘s all. You’re too hot to be acting like that. And Rick - Daryl’s not sure how much longer he’ll be able to play this game with you. 

He clears his throat to interrupt whatever tension is going on between the two of you. Doesn’t want to see Rick groveling to get you to behave, or the opposite - because if he hears you beg, well.

Daryl's not going to chance it. Thinking with his dick lately, remember? He starts walking to the front door. 

“Wait,” you say, because of course you do. Daryl thinks about pretending like he didn't hear you, but you get off of the couch and manage to get behind him, soft little hand on his bicep while you try to stop him. “Where are you going? Can I come with? I wanna see the sunset,” you explain, and shit. What a cute fucking sentence. Daryl literally hates himself. 

“Not going sunset watching,” he grumbles, pulling his arm away from you. Your delicate, tiny touch is burning his skin. “This ain't a vacation,” he adds, because someone around here has to be the negative one, right? This world is still fucking shitty, even in this little piece of protected suburbs. Rick calls out your name. 

“Leave him be, go find something useful to do,” he orders, and Daryl doesn’t even have to look at you to know you’re rolling your sweet little eyes. Again, he has thoughts that make him berate himself. Sweet? Eyes? He’s two seconds away from going next door and asking Abraham to kick his ass just to bring him back down to reality. 

“Stop telling me what to do all the time,” you bite back, and just to stop the bickering, Daryl relents. Not like he was doing anything anyway, just wanted to go for a little walk to clear his head, check the wall and make sure the new adjustments to it are still intact, still keeping this place safe. 

Being able to keep his head on straight for a night would’ve been cool, but here you go, using all that feminine charm on him to get him to do what you want. No wonder people in the olden days thought sexy women were witches. Maybe they were onto something. 

“Jus’ hurry up and grab a jacket, kid. Shit,” Daryl curses, and you practically squeal and run up the stairs, going to your room to put on some shoes and a little coat. To be fair, when you’re not around Rick - you’re not so fucking immature. You’re always cute, nice, smart - but Rick brings out thoughtlessness in you that’s truly insane to witness. Sometimes it’s like you’re a different person.

When you come back down with your jacket on, which isn’t a jacket but more of a little white sweater, you actually go back to Rick to say goodbye, pat his arm while Daryl watches his attempt to be cool, even when it’s obvious that your presence, anytime you touch him, sends him into a panic. Daryl knows that feeling. Rick stands and grabs a handgun from a drawer next to the couch and hands it to you, because that’s a rule around here. Every adult needs to be armed when they’re walking around. 

You roll your eyes. Again. “Would’ve been safe with Daryl,” you grumble, and that’s true, but knowing you think that makes Daryl almost jump out of his skin. It’s…good. Shit, you really confuse him, and you’re only a young little thing. 

He can’t imagine the power you’ll hold when you get to be his age. If, no - when. Because you’re going to make it. Rick promised your father you would. Daryl didn’t promise him anything, but it’s still important to him too.  

“Bye, Rick,” you say, before following Daryl out the door. You’re halfway off the porch when Rick stands in the doorway, seeing you off. He doesn’t say anything to Daryl, doesn’t need to, but he does call out to you. 

“Don’t ask for a cigarette, you hear me? Don't do anything fuckin' stupid,” he warns, and you just laugh out loud, slide the gun that he handed you into your boot. Daryl doesn’t get it, the dynamic between you two, but it’s weird and awkward and frankly, a little hot. Maybe he’s more like Merle than he thought. 

You walk to an empty area of Alexandria, somewhere you can sort of see the sunset. He fishes his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. What good is being outside if he can't have a smoke?

“Want one?” Daryl grunts, and you giggle and take it, because yeah, Rick told you not to smoke, but Rick ain’t his daddy. He ain’t yours either - but as Daryl lights up, he supposes that Rick… sort of is?

He nags you, protects you, takes care of you. Made you move into the room next to his so he could keep a closer eye on you. Daryl's pretty sure he heard Rick tell you to eat your vegetables the other day, and whenever you hurt yourself he's always the first one coming to you, gently fixing up whatever little wound you might have.

Maybe you want that. The Daddy thing. Maybe you like that. Maybe -

Daryl’s a sick bastard. Must run in the Dixon DNA. 

You nod, but before he can give you your own, you just grab it from his lips, almost burn your finger while you do it too. You get pink lip gloss on the cigarette, and you never end up giving it back. Such a bratty, spoiled thing to do. Would be enough to start a fight, where Daryl’s from, being greedy like that - but you're fuckin' cute and you know it. You know the power you have, and that's a turn on for Daryl.

And yeah, he could easily reach back into his pocket, get his own cigarette, but he’s content. Dick halfway hard in his pants, watching a beautiful thing like you look all pretty and pink and proper, smoking on a cancer stick.

Daryl doesn’t know what comes over him when he says, “He’s too old for you, ya know that, don’t cha?” He’s talking about Rick. Obviously. Is not at all (lie) trying to gauge your reaction to an older man. Isn't inadvertently (another lie) trying to figure out if you're purposely bending over, just so he can see your cleavage on full display while you pick a flower growing in the grass by your feet. 

You smile, taking a final inhale then tossing the cigarette on the ground and stubbing it out with the toe of your sneaker. Deanna’s going to kill you for littering so shamelessly.  

You shake your head, blow out the smoke. “No, he’s not,” you say, taking the flower and putting it behind your ear. You lock eyes with Daryl. “And neither are you.”

────

Living with you requires a special kind of patience that Rick doesn’t have at his age. 

Honestly, he doesn’t think he’s ever had the kind of patience required to live with someone like you. Although, patience and restraint could be interchanged in this scenario. 

You’re driving him crazy. 

There’s four rooms in his designated house in Alexandria, but the house still doesn’t seem big enough. Your presence is suffocating to him, in the best way possible, but it’s overwhelming when he’s got so much on his plate. The safety of the entire community is a big responsibility, and his focus has to be on keeping people alive and fed and prepared, in case something happens. 

Rick feels like he never gets a chance to breathe, with someone somewhere always wanting something from him. And it’s not like he can relax when he gets home, either - because you’re there, and Rick physically cannot calm down around you. It’s not your fault. It’s just his body’s natural reaction to you, and maybe in another world that would be something amazing, but in this world it’s wrecking his nervous system. 

God, he really sounds like an old man these days. It’s a good reminder that, in comparison to you, he sort of is. 

It’s been a long day. Rick’s walking up the stairs, ready to collapse into his bed until he’s inevitably woken up again in a few hours for something the people in the community could handle on their own. He’s literally yawning, resisting the urge to rub his eyes when you quickly round the corner and try to scamper down the stairs around him. 

As if that would work. The houses in Alexandria are big, much nicer than the home Rick lived in before this whole mess started, but a staircase is still a staircase. Too narrow for the both of you to squeeze past each other without touching. 

Rick grabs your wrist to stop you, not hard, but you whine like he just tried to saw your arm off. Such a dramatic brat. Instead of rubbing his eyes, Rick resists the urge to roll them now. 

There’s no curfew for the residents of Alexandria, not really, but there’s no point in leaving the house after dark. Your group has spent a year wishing for a safe place to lay your head at night, and being outside this late just seems foolish and unnecessary. 

And a little suspicious. 

And - Rick is nosy. He hates how frail your wrist feels in his hand, so he drops it, and gets a good look at you. “Where are you goin’?” He asks, annoyed at how fond he feels when he sees your bottom lip poke out. 

You’re pouting. You’re pouting and he hasn’t even nagged you about anything yet. That’s a new record, for sure. 

You shrug, and the movement draws his eyes to your chest, where your tits bounce ever so slightly in your tight, little tank top. Rick can feel the wheels of brat moving in your mind, and he lets out a breath because he knows whatever is about to come out of your mouth is bullshit. It always is, whenever you speak to him. 

It’s clear you love to rile him up, although he’s not sure why. Maybe you see him as a safe place to get your frustration out - he’s the closest thing you’ve got to a parent these days, so maybe giving him a hard time is coping skill or something. 

At that thought, the parent one, Rick lifts his eyes from your chest. He hates that when you’re this close, he can smell the sweet scent of your perfume or shampoo or whatever it is that women use to smell delicious. He hates that when you’re this close, he can see the twinkle in your pretty eyes, the sparkle of whatever product you have on your lips that makes them look so soft. He hates -

Well, most of all, he hates himself. For noticing these things. For thinking these things. He can’t even reason that he knows every detail about your face because he’s known you for so long - because he’s known Maggie and Carol and shit, Daryl, even longer than you - and he truly can’t even recall the color of their eyes. 

This attention to detail - it’s definitely a you thing. 

You quirk a brow, one that’s perfectly arched. You must’ve spent three hours in the bathroom when the group arrived in Alexandria. Rick remembers that you waited for everyone else to have a turn rinsing off, just so you could take your sweet time after everyone already went to bed. You guard the scented shampoo that Deanna left for you with your life, and the bathroom care package someone dropped off the first week, that came with tweezers and razors and mouthwash. Rick knows you made nice with the other women in the community just to ‘borrow’ the perfume that they had before the start of the apocalypse.

It’s cute, and the femininity you’re showing in this community has Rick almost forgetting all the times he’s seen you smash a walkers head in or eat from a can of uncooked ravioli with your fingers - which was a luxury find a few months ago. Crazy how fast life can change. 

“Just getting some water, Rick. Why do you think I’m going somewhere?”

Well. Rick didn’t think about that. The kitchen is downstairs. 

But Rick knows you better than that. Apparently, he pays more attention to every single thing you do than he even realized. If you were just going to get water this late, you’d be in your pajamas - which is more often than not, a pair of boxers and a shirt that's much too big for you. You swiped them from Daryl’s room when someone from the community brought everyone a fresh change of clothes - you’ve really gotten comfortable here. 

Right now you’re not wearing anything comfortable, and that’s how Rick knows you’re lying. That little tank top, no bra, the tiny pair of shorts you’ve got on - how fucking stupid do you think he is? You’re wearing shoes - he knows you’re planning on leaving. 

Which is fine. You’re allowed to. But you’re also his responsibility, and he’s beyond tired, and there were more walkers by the walls today, and - you know what? Rick’s not letting you off this easy. Call it payback, after your fit yesterday in front of Deanna and Abraham, when you stomped your cute foot and called Rick a control freak since he wouldn’t let you go on a run yourself. 

He can give you a hard time too. So he does. “I know you’re lying, and you’re not leaving the house tonight. It’s too dangerous,” and that’s not really true, but your bottom lip juts out again and then you cross your arms, and that just irritates Rick more because now you’re covering up his view. Fuck, he’s really sick, isn’t he? Maybe he just needs to go to bed. 

He should just let you go out. Move out of your way, so you can pass him on the stairs and go where you want to go so bad, wherever that is. Carol and Sasha are patrolling, and there’s a card game at the house in the center of the community where Glenn and Abraham and Maggie, as well as others, are all together. You’d be fairly safe if you went out for a walk, and truth be told, Rick isn’t really worried about your safety right now. 

If he’s honest with himself, deep down - he just doesn’t want to let you out of the house in that fucking outfit. He’s got to talk with Deanna, tell her to tell whoever’s in charge of the clothing in Alexandria to give you a bra and some shorts that fit. Christ, he thinks, running a hand down his face in pure exhaustion and frustration, because you quickly head down the stairs after he tells you no and he can clearly see the bottom of your asscheeks, round and firm and - damn. Those shorts belong in the fucking trash or on a pedestal where Rick can properly thank them. 

“I’ve got plans,” you say, pretty mouth no longer pouting, but pulled into a cheeky smile. Rick realizes that you’re pleased, because you’re already getting the attention you wanted from him, without him even realizing it. He follows you down the stairs so you’re both standing in the living room now, and Rick’s too old for all this bickering, too tired, but he plays along anyway. Knows this is just a game, to terrorize him, because you’re a little menace and you enjoy pissing him off. 

And shit - he can admit it. It feels good that someone like you wants his attention this bad. So he'll play along.

“Yeah? Well, tell me what they are. Don’t be shy. Where the hell are you goin' dressed like that?” Rick’s falling into the trap, because he’s fucking stupid, because you make him stupid. He could easily walk back upstairs and go to sleep just as easily as you could walk out the front door and do - whatever the fuck it is you want to do right now. But you’re both standing here, two adults arguing for no reason, and that’s when Rick realizes why he even entertains your little tantrums and ploys at getting him to argue. 

Maybe he just likes that someone is brave enough to question his decisions. You make him feel human - like he’s more than just a leader. 

You uncross your arms, and Rick wishes you didn’t. He wanted you to a minute ago, but now he just wants to run upstairs to his room to pull out a shirt and pair of boxers to force you to wear, to hide that figure of yours that was only made hotter from all the fucking physical activity the entire group did every day for a year. 

“I’m not going anywhere, Rick. God, stop being such a freak. I’m just watching a movie with Daryl.” 

Your answer knocks the wind out of Rick, because now he knows you're really up to something. Wearing that, to watch a movie with Daryl? It's shady, and yeah, Rick knows that you like Daryl. Everyone can see it.

You love to tease him and torment him, say things to make him blush, and if Rick's not around you cling him to like a teddy bear, ask to follow him around and help him with runs or whatever needs to be done. Rick always just assumed you had a little crush on him - which was sort of cute, in a weird way. Showed Rick that you like older men, and out of everyone - Daryl's harmless. He wouldn't act on any stupid thoughts, and probably doesn't even think of you in that way. He's a good guy.

Unlike Rick, apparently.

Even your father could see it. When he was still alive, when the group was constantly on the move, Daryl carried you on his back for miles, told Rick that giving in was better than hearin' your bitchin'. Rick still remembers the look on your father's face when he saw Daryl put you down that day, his posture fucked, dripping sweat - and he still handed you his water bottle before he even got a sip.

"She's somethin'," your dad said with an eye roll, although fond. You were the apple of his eye, but even your father knew you could be a goddamn handful.

Now though, with the possibility that your little crush could be more, Rick feels weird. Uncomfortable, an emotion burning in his chest that he realizes is - no, it can't be -

Jealousy? He feels weirdly possessive, he -

Hears the garage door close, then heavy footsteps, until Daryl’s standing on the other side of the room.

“What’s all the ruckus? Was just cleaning my bike,” Daryl starts, a little disturbed at the way Rick looks like he’s about to have a heart attack or crumble to the floor in frustration. He steps further into the room a little tentatively, before his eyes look to you, and suddenly Daryl is glad that he’s learned to control his emotions so they don’t ever register on his face. 

Because your outfit - if it can even be called that…well, Daryl’s starting to realize why Rick looks like he’s about to have a nervous breakdown. 

Daryl can’t help himself. He says it without even consciously realizing it, asking, “Where the fuck you goin’ dressed like that?” All while pretending to be casual, wiping motorcycle grease off of his hands with a dirty towel he brought in from the garage. 

Daryl’s comment must send you over the edge, because you huff and groan and then run upstairs, slamming your door like a fucking teenager. 

It’s silent for a second, with just the two of them in the living room, before Daryl breaks the silence. “What’s her problem?” He asks Rick, who stays silent for so long, eyes closed and a hand over his face, that Daryl wonders if Rick even heard him. 

But then Rick laughs. The kind of laugh that stems from being so irritated, instead of breaking something all he can do is angrily chuckle. Now Daryl is really confused, but Rick isn’t. 

You were lying about watching a movie with Daryl, as Rick expected, and he shakes his head. The outfit and the shoes to pretend you were going somewhere and the attitude were all just to rile him up. He thinks he's starting to realize why you want to get a rise out of him so bad, and it makes his stomach turn and his dick chub up in excitement.

“She said she was watchin’ a movie with you,” he explains, which only further perplexes Daryl, because he doesn’t watch movies, and you were wearing shoes - but he knows when to leave a situation alone. Whatever you and Rick having going on - that’s between you two. 

Daryl turns to go back to the garage, and Rick’s about to walk up the stairs when the sound of your bedroom door opening is heard, and then a few light footsteps. Both men brace themselves because you’re sure to have something to say now. 

It’s sort of cute, although neither one of them would admit that they like this attitude - that you needed to take a minute to gather your thoughts just to come up with something nasty to say back to Rick. 

“Daryl,” you call from the top of the stairs, “I was just about to ask if you wanted to hang out. We could've gone for a walk, or watched a movie, or - anything! Rick’s just so mean, he doesn’t want to watch a movie with me and,” Rick stomps up the stairs and you squeal. Daryl bites back a laugh at the way you act around Rick, a smile spreading across his face that he’s glad no one else is around to see.

It’s weird, that he finds you so fucking charming. You’re annoying as shit, but it’s endearing, and the way Rick acts around you - like a human, instead of a tough robot - it's nice to see. He keeps that to himself, not going back to the garage until he hears Rick tell you to go to bed. “I just wanted to watch a movie,” you whine, and as the door shuts, Daryl hears Rick. 

“Watch one? In that outfit, looks like you’re trying to make one. Quit lyin' and put some fuckin' clothes on.” 

────

Just like that, everything changes.

All thanks to that little outfit. God bless Deanna for sending over those little shorts that you cut even smaller, and those tank tops you took from the community closet that were definitely meant for someone younger than you - but they did the job you needed them to do perfectly. 

That outfit changed everything. It got Rick, and Daryl, to see that you were only trying to show off. That everything you’d been doing, especially since you got to Alexandria, was just to get their attention.

And yeah, maybe that makes you feel a little pathetic. It’s the end of the world, and all you’re thinking about is how to seduce your late father’s close friends, but there’s another way of looking at that too. For instance, you could literally die tomorrow. So could Rick, Daryl - anyone. Every single day that you go to bed, you know that it’s all just luck. Like winning the lottery. So why not have fun while you still can?

In your opinion, that should be everyone’s viewpoint. 

The next morning, after your little lie about watching a movie with Daryl, Rick made sure everyone was out of the house so that he could talk to you. He found you in the kitchen.

“He’s too old for you,” he says, all parental and bossy in a plaid button down shirt, hand on his hip. He reminds you of your dad a little, with the disapproving tone and the stance. Back when your father used to disapprove of every fucking guy you brought home for him to meet. It’s funny, although depressing, and even though you didn’t have the best relationship with him, thinking about your dad now that he’s dead hurts. You shake the thought and the memory from your head, scooping a spoonful of oatmeal into your mouth. You shrug. 

“Daryl says the same thing about you,” is your reply after you swallow. Rick lets out a big sigh, always a drama queen, but you love that you have him where you want him. Jealous, maybe. Seeing you as someone beyond just his late friend's daughter. You’re a woman that a lot of people want, and Rick should know that. Should feel lucky, that you like him so much and want his attention so badly. Sometimes you honestly think that Daryl and Rick are a little ungrateful about all the attention they get from you. 

“Yeah, well, he’s right,” there’s a pause, like Rick doesn’t really want to say what he’s going to say. You look up at him, blink your eyes slowly in a way that you learned gets men get flustered, and Rick stutters as it comes out of his mouth, he sighs after he says it. “You’ve gotta stop this.”

You know exactly what he’s talking about. What Rick means to say is: You’ve gotta stop coming on to him and to Daryl. To stop being such a tease, to stop acting like a little harlot that needs to be punished and fucked so bad she’s running around one of the last standing suburbs in the United States with her panties showing and her tits out. 

You get it, really - you do. 

You just don’t want to stop. 

“Stop what, Rick? You know I’m attracted to you. To Daryl. I literally can’t be any more obvious. Why can’t I have a little fun? Does it seriously bother you? Or is it just your morals getting in the way?” Not to sound like a selfish, immature brat - but you’re pissed at your dad for freaking Rick out. Before he passed, you really were getting closer with Rick, spending all your free time together, sort of affectionate when nobody else was looking. You’d stay awake with Rick at night to talk, you’d go for walks with him, go on runs whenever you were allowed, help him with whatever he needed. 

You were getting somewhere, and your dad’s final dying wish took all your hard work and dumped it in the trash. 

Now, you know how it sounds. Like you’re a total bitch that was a shitty daughter with no empathy or emotions, but that’s far from the facts. The truth is - you were never close with your dad. You happened to be visiting him during a break from college when shit hit the fan, and he was prepared. You'd have been stupid not to stay with him. And, yeah, he kept you alive and you definitely got closer after spending a year on the road together in some of the worst human conditions ever - but it wasn’t like you were daddy’s little girl or whatever else Rick likes to imagine to torture himself more.

You miss your father, sure, and you’re also sure Rick misses having another trustworthy male in the group, but treating the last words of a man who was going crazy with the walker virus as gospel is just plain crazy. Even for Rick.

And, to be clear, it’s not like you’re trying to force yourself onto Rick or Daryl. You know for a fact that if you were, if all your teasing and affection was making them uncomfortable, they’d say something about it. You’re desperate for them, yeah, but if either of them truly wanted you to fuck off, you’d respect that. 

It’s just that - you know they want you. It’s clear, in the way their eyes follow you around a room, the way their touch lingers on you, how protective they are. For fuck’s sake, you’ve felt the hard outline of the bulge in their pants whenever you plop down on their laps, and you swear that Rick was using any excuse to get in the bathroom while you were taking a bath the other day. Needed his floss, yeah fucking right. It was cute though. You want them to want you. 

And, anyway - you don’t understand why it’s such a big fucking deal. You’re in your twenties, and who knows how much longer you all have left? Daryl and Rick can’t be more than what, forty? Corpses learned to walk, and they’re worried about a little bit of legal age difference?

God, they’re driving you crazy.

In the kitchen, Rick curses. He doesn’t know what to say in reply to you. Does it really bother him, all your teasing? 

Because the answer is - yeah, it does bother him. 

It bothers him, that he can’t even fantasize about pushing you down on his bed and fucking your brains out without images of your dying dad flashing through his mind. It bothers him, that you’re so sexy and hot and sweet and soft and that you want him so bad, make him feel so needed and appreciated in ways no woman has ever made him feel before, yet you’re young enough to be his daughter. It bothers him deeply, that you’re the only thing in his mind all day long and the only thing that truly matters to him, which is why he’s always giving you such a hard time, which also makes him feel like the worst leader ever - because he’s got the safety of an entire community on his shoulders. People are counting on him, and all he can think about is you you you.

It bothers him, that he feels like a dirty old man around you, and that he doesn’t even care. Actually likes the way that people look at him when you’re on his arm. Likes to help you when you’re pretending like you can’t do shit yourself, just because you’d rather have him do it. And it really fucking bothers him that your tits are perky and that you hate wearing a bra and that your skin is clear and that you smell like a goddamn vanilla cupcake in the middle of the apocalypse. 

Sometimes Rick hates you, for the way you bother him. 

But right now, what bothers him the most - is that he’s not even bothered that you want his best friend to fuck you. The only thing that bothers him about you wanting Daryl so bad is that he wants to see just how badly you do, and that makes him feel like a fucking pervert. A bad, bad man.

What the actual fuck is wrong with him? He’s supposed to be the good guy. 

“You’re just too damn young,” is all he says, and then he starts to walk away. It’s shitty, yeah, to leave you hanging like that - but Rick doesn’t want to be this guy. The one who takes advantage of a young, beautiful thing like yourself. It’s wrong. 

He used to be a cop. Married. Looked down upon men who’d hook up with the first young thing that wanted them. He used to hate on his friend, Shane, gave him so much shit about going after younger women who wanted an older man. Told him that young women who looked for older men had daddy issues, and what kind of decent person would take advantage of that? 

Is that a real thing, Rick wonders, daddy issues? Do you have that? Is it because your father died? Because Rick’s pretty sure you’ve been coming onto him and Daryl even back when you first joined the group. Do you think you have to…act the way you do so he’ll take care of you? Look out for you, now that all your family is dead? 

“You don’t need to…cater to what you think I want,” Rick starts, unsure of how else to phrase it. He knows that no matter how he puts it, you’re going to be pissed. “I’ll still be here for you, always, to protect you, take care of you, even if you’re not,” he regrets it the minute it comes out of his mouth, “sexually appealing to me.”

You stand up so fast your spoon clatters out of your oatmeal from the force of your hands on the counter, pushing your chair out and standing up. “Are you kidding me?” You’ve had it now. No more bratty little girl, no - now you’re a pissed off woman.

“I’m not some fucking kid, Rick. I’m not trying to seduce you because I’m worried you’ll kick me out of the group. I can pull my weight as much as the next person and you know that.” It’s insulting, what he’s saying. You literally want to punch him for saying that shit. 

“I’m trying to seduce you so you’ll fuck me. What’s so hard to understand? Do you want me Rick? Because I think you do. You’re just too chicken shit to,” but you don’t get to finish because he rushes forward, pushes you against the kitchen counter and turns you around. Manhandles you. 

You bite your lip to stop from grinning. This is what you wanted. Maybe not the fight, but the feeling of him holding you tight, locking you in place against his strong body. You feel his hard stomach, strong arms, and you’re shameless when you lean down on the counter so you’re completely bent over it, pushing your ass towards the bulge in his jeans. 

“You don’t wanna finish that sentence,” he warns, but maybe you do - because you feel him, hard against you. He likes this. Rick wants you, just as bad as you want him. You say a silent prayer, thanking the angels above that nobody else is home right now. “‘M not chicken shit about anything.”

You scoff. “Yeah, you are. Got me bent against the counter and you’re still talking. God, Rick, maybe I was wrong about you. Maybe you can't handle this, maybe,” you go on and on, trying to stand up while he holds you down. He’s got a hand literally pressing into your back to keep you from getting up, and you’re so aroused you feel the dampness in your panties. You try to squeeze your legs together, but you can’t get any relief in this position. 

Then you realize that this must’ve been the position Rick put people in when he’d arrest them. Officer Grimes. Holy shit, that’s hot to think about. Such a force of power, so strong, so smart, so trustworthy. Rick, who takes care of you and comforts you and bends to every stupid whim you make up to test his loyalty towards you. Rick, who puts on a pair of sunglasses before he oggles your tits because he wants to seem like a gentleman so bad. Rick - 

Who’s pulling your pants down over your ass, panties too, until they’re down to your knees and he can see your bare ass. That fast, huh? You wiggle your ass with no remorse for being so greedy. 

“You’re really somethin’, you know that?” He murmurs, running his hand over the smooth skin of your ass. Then he smacks a hand down on it so hard that you’d jump if you weren’t being held down. It’s unexpected, but so fucking hot, and you’ve definitely fantasized about Rick spanking you before. Been begging for it, actually, with all your bad attitude these last few months. 

“You think you’re so grown. Pick and choose when you wanna be a grown lady or a bratty kid, whatever you think might get my attention. ‘M not stupid, I see it, just let you think you’re pulling the strings, ‘cause you know what? ‘S cute that you think you’re in charge,” Rick’s just letting the degrading so fucking sexy dirty talk flow, all the while he drops hits onto your ass. 

Part of the appeal, the desire growing in your belly and making all your limbs feel tight and hot, is that anyone could walk in at any time. Sure, right now the house is empty, but at any point someone could walk in and see what Rick is doing to you. What you’re letting him do. You whine at the thought. 

“You’re right, Rick,” you say, because come on. You haven’t been this desperate just to play hard to get now that you’re underneath him. You’ve been begging to see this side of Rick, to be on the receiving side of all this testosterone, to see if the most powerful man you’ve ever met is like that in every aspect of his life. He’s controlling, and sometimes mean, has a cold streak that’ll ice you out but also carries a warmth to thaw it -

And, you’re realizing, he’s turned on punishing you. Kinkier than you thought, honestly. But you're thrilled that he is.

“Didn’t think I’d ever hear those words out of your mouth,” he replies, and then he stops holding you down to the table. Instead, he lifts you up so your back is to his chest, and you lean against him, very aware that as he holds you to him his hand trails lower and lower, until his fingers are prodding between your legs, and you let out a gasp. 

Who knew Mr. Grimes had all this dirtiness in him? You always hoped, but. It’s better than you expected. You’re literally grinning when he rubs down your slit, so wet, back and forth while barely grazing your clit. He knows you want it bad, but he’s not going to give it to you just yet. 

Payback, maybe? You’ve never been so excited. 

“Fuckin’ drippin’,” he murmurs, voice in your ear. His breath smells like spearmint and you’re such a romantic that it makes you almost moan. It’s the same toothpaste you use. How domestic. How fun, how kinky - that it kind of feels like you’re his little wife letting him fuck you in the kitchen. 

Because yeah, that’s a fantasy of yours. You’ve got a lot of them, and Rick and Daryl are at the center of each one. “Rick,” you whine, and you feel him shake his head against you. 

“Not my name, is it? Rick wouldn’t spank your ass, but I know someone who would. What’d you call me the other day, huh? When you were teasin’ me because I said you couldn’t patrol by yourself?” He sticks a finger inside of you, a little too rough to be pleasurable, but that kind of dominance makes you moan. His thumb rubs over your clit, presses down hard, and the feeling is so much that you try to pull away. 

“Daddy,” you answer, and then he gives you some relief. Turns the hard touch on your little button to something pleasurable with a few soft strokes, adding another finger inside of you. 

He hums. “‘Atta girl. Just feelin’ you. Been imagining what this sweet little cunt feels like since I’ve known you. Figured it had to be as pretty as the rest of you. Tell me,” he lifts his fingers from your pussy, shiny under the kitchen lights from how aroused you are, “It as sweet as I imagined?” He shoves the digits in your mouth and you suck, hard. You moan against his fingers. 

“Look at you,” he utters, even though he’s literally craning his face to see you at this angle. “You’re a dirty, dirty girl. This what you wanted? Wanted to show me how dirty you could be? Guess the only time you’re gonna listen is if Daddy’s got a finger in your mouth or in one of your,”

The sound of footsteps make the both of you freeze. Rick takes his fingers out of your mouth, but he makes no move to pull away from behind you or help you pull your pants up. He’s frozen. 

The steps enter the kitchen, and when you realize who it is, your stomach sinks. Fucking Daryl. 

“The fuck?” He asks, looking around like he does when there’s a new location the group is checking out that he’s skeptical of. It’s impossible to read his expression, and in typical Daryl fashion, you think he’s just going to walk away. Slam the door to the garage, hole up and work on his bike, avoid you like the plague until the end of time because you’re such a little slut. That last part really isn’t his character, fine - but it makes you sick, thinking about Daryl thinking differently about you. 

But he doesn’t walk away. Instead, when Rick steps out from behind you and you quickly pull your pants up, Daryl walks up to him and literally punches him in the face. You gasp, and Rick curses, damn near falling on the ground. 

“Fuckin’,” but Rick doesn’t finish, because Daryl drops whatever he’s holding and shoves at him again, until he really does almost topple down. 

You don’t know what to do. “Daryl,” you say, trying to make your voice sound loud, not whiny. “What the hell are you doing? Rick, he’s. God, leave him alone!”

Daryl does as you say, but he’s fucking pissed. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this fucking mad. Rick holds his nose, because blood is dripping from it and ruining his shirt that you just bleached for him. 

“What the fuck ‘re you thinkin,’ man? She’s just a kid,” but you cut Daryl off, stomp your foot very maturely and let out a loud, irritated groan. Very attractive, you’re sure.

“I’m not a fucking kid! You’re both always acting like I don’t know what I want, that I can’t handle it and it’s just. You’re wrong, okay? How much more obvious do I need to be? I want Rick. I want you, Daryl. Stop making a big deal out of nothing,” as you rant, they’re both looking at you like you’re crazy, and it honestly feels like Daryl’s looking at you in disgust. 

“We’re twice you’re fuckin’ age. You can’t handle it. ‘Less you’ve got experience that I don’t know about, you need’a be with someone your own fucking age,” apparently this is a hill Daryl will die on. You’re so fucking irritated. Why would you chose the two most morally gold men the entire fucking community, you have no idea. You guess that it sort of is part of their appeal, but -

Now Rick’s cutting you off, using a towel to stop the blood coming out of his nose. He looks ridiculous, towel pressed to his face, blood all over him, still trying to establish himself as leader in this kitchen with a hand on his hip. 

You think he’s going to defend you. He did just have you bent over the counter and was playing with your pussy. But Daryl’s guilt is spilling onto him now, and he nods, letting out a sigh like he’s just given up. 

There’s a lag in conversation, until Rick finally says, “Yeah. Man, I know, I just got caught up. ‘S easy to get carried away, and,” you make a noise that's like a whine and a groan and brat all at the same time - and both men look at you like you’re proving their point - you’re acting immature. 

“You both suck, you know that? Any man here would want me, and you’re acting like I’m ugly and,” you don’t finish because Daryl cuts you off. He’s still pissed, and your eyes widen as he walks towards you and backs you up against the refrigerator. 

“You know goddamn well you ain’t ugly. Stop playin’ dumb and stop with the bullshit. You’re actin’ like a fuckin’ cat in heat around here and I’m sick of it. What do you need, huh? You wanna get fucked, is that it?” Daryl’s trying to be mean, scare you off, get you to leave him alone - which tells you two things. One: He’s probably so good with dirty talk. Two: He must feel something for you if he’s trying this hard to keep you away. 

“Daryl,” you hear Rick warn from behind him, because he is pretty much yelling at you in the kitchen. 

Daryl waves him off. “No. Shit, girl, you’re drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy. When’s the last time you had it? Had a man on top of ya given’ you what you want?” You blush bright red, and you reach out to loop your finger into the belt hook of Daryl’s pants. You think for a second he’s going to push you away, but instead he leans closer and barricades you between his arms against the fridge, rolls his hips and grinds himself, dick hard, against you. You moan, even though there’s no friction for you. It’s just hot, you just like it, and you want more and - 

“You like that? So desperate for attention that you’ll take anything, won’t ya? People dying left and right, world overrun by fucking corpses and all you can think about is a pair of old men getting in your panties. This what you want, isn’t it? Would make your daddy real fuckin’ proud,” he takes your hand and sets it on his bulge, and you feel it, squeeze it, know that he must be packin’ some fucking heat to be acting the way he is right now.

Rick grabs Daryl by the shoulder to move him out of the way, telling him, “Man, calm down, she’s -” but he doesn’t finish. Looks at you and sees your eyes so big, cheeks so red, looking at Daryl in utter adoration, and that’s when he realizes how fucked they both really are. Daryl would’ve just scared the shit out of another woman - a big man, looming over you like that, talking a bunch of shit - yet you’re looking at him like he’s the sun or something. 

You’re really something. Same woman that cries when insects and animals die is the same one that could probably kill a walker with her bare hands. Same woman that sleeps with a stuffed animal she found in a drawer of the house, is the same one begging two old men to fuck her. Pink and bratty and pretty and full of fucking bite, Rick will never understand you. He’s never met another woman like you, didn't know one existed. He’s -

“When’s the last time?” He asks, loving the absent minded look on your face when you turn your head to him. Rick knows you're smart - has seen you problem solve and debate with everyone, knows you were pretty educated before all this shit went down, and you definitely have street smarts. Maybe that’s why it’s so cute, to be the one to make you lose your mind. That you trust him enough to care for you. 

Or maybe he’s just a sick bastard. 

You take too long to reply and Daryl gently nudges you, takes your fingers out of the loop of his pants and holds your hand instead. He must have the same reaction to seeing you like this, because he’s calmed down considerably. 

“Last time you had sex,” he says gently. Back to the big, soft, fuzzy teddy bear version of Daryl - your description of him, when you saw him in his new brown poncho. Rick doesn’t get it, but he doesn’t need to. You’re cute, and the things you say are sweet, period. 

You lick over your bottom lip, tongue cute and pink, just like the little shirt you’ve got on. You let out a tiny breath. “Mm, well,” another pause, when you look down and then back up, from Daryl to Rick. 

“I’m a virgin.”

────

“It could work, you know,” Carol says, voice a little smug. She’s teasing, but Daryl’s got no idea what the fuck she’s on about. Carol sees his expression and huffs out a laugh, nudging him in the shoulder with a strength he’s not even sure she knows she carries. He grunts. 

“It’s a differently world now. Age, our lives before this crap. Doesn’t mean anything. If you,” Daryl cuts her off right there. He shakes his head, downs the rest of the beer that he’s been nursing all night. 

“Don’t know what the hell yer talkin’ about,” he grumbles, but that’s a lie. Daryl knows exactly what Carol is referring to, because it’s right in front of him. 

It being you. 

Carol nudges him again, this time with her shoulder. They’re sitting on the couch together, drinking beer after one of those community meetings Rick loves to have so much, and Daryl feels uncomfortable. Not because of the people he’s around - no, the group he made at the start of all this shit is the reason he feels good. They’re his family. 

It just feels weird, to sit around and drink and hang out when there’s a crowd of walkers that could be lurking anywhere, at any time. Daryl will never get used to it, this false sense of normalcy, but maybe that’s just because he’s never had it before. 

Fucked up as it is to say, he’s never had a quality of life quite this good. His life was made better during the apocalypse, and he’s pretty sure he’s the only one that can say that. Once again, Daryl feels lonely. Misunderstood. Which makes him feel like a fucking loser and a jerk at the same time. He grabs another beer, straight out of Glenn’s hand who’s standing next to him, and downs it before slamming it down on the coffee table. Glenn shakes his head and walks off, and Carol barks out a laugh.

She’s right. Maybe not about what she said, but Daryl was looking at you when she said it. Maybe he’s just as oblivious as Rick when it comes to you, heart eyes popping out of his head whenever he sees you, all the lust and protectiveness spilling out of his body in the form of annoyance and irritation. 

You’re sitting on the kitchen counter, which Daryl can see from the couch. Cute feet dangling while you sip on a glass of something clear. Could be vodka, could be water - hard to fucking tell with you. Are you acting like a grown woman, smart and strong and capable, with skills that came from being raised by a father with military training? That’d mean you’re drinking vodka. 

Or are you the girl who’s all pink and frills, needing help with the smallest tasks, starting arguments just for attention, showing off too much skin for the end of the fucking world? That’d mean you’re drinking water. The easiest way to tell what version of you you’re going to be is to check if Rick is around, and tonight, of course he is. 

Looks like you’re all pink and frills tonight.

Daryl watches you throw your head back and laugh, so pretty, so free - and it makes Daryl happy that you’re happy, despite it all. Your hair is a little messy and Daryl likes it, loves the way your sweater falls off your shoulder and that your sock is slipping off your foot. He’s never liked a woman so much, never met another person who was able to dig themselves so deep under his skin that they’re impossible to remove, even with all the warm showers he’s been taking. 

So much for refusing to get used to this place. It’s getting harder and harder to go without these luxuries as time goes on. But that’s a worry for another time. 

Rick, coming from out of fucking nowhere, since you were just talking to Maggie, stands next to you. Daryl watches him, the way he places a hand on your leg and bends to slip the sock so gently back onto your foot. He asks you, because it’s a pretty small house so Daryl can hear, if you’re doing alright. Must be vodka you’re drinking then. You nod, looking up at Rick with something like sparkles in your own eyes, and that’s when Carol clears her throat. 

“That’s what I’m talking about,” she says, finishing her beer off. Daryl blushes bright red, because that means she saw him stare. What a fool he is. 

Carol stands to walk away. “‘S how she looks at you too. Just so you know. You deserve what you want, Daryl.” And then she walks off. Fuckin’ Carol, he thinks, shaking his head to himself. She’s his closest friend, probably knows him better than Rick, and she’s got wisdom Daryl can’t even comprehend. He hates that maybe she’s right. It’s too much to think about.

Daryl knows you like him. Shit, he’d be stupid not to see it. He just doesn’t know what to do with that information. Can’t stop thinking about you, what you looked like against that fridge. Like he could do anything to you, and you’d thank him and ask for more. The way you looked at him, like you were seeing a rainbow or an open bar for the first time or some shit - why do you see him that way? What are you seeing when you look at him that he can’t see in himself?

Makes him fucking uncomfortable, but he can’t deny that it does sort of feel good. 

Daryl can’t keep his eyes off of you the entire night. Watches you lose your ass to Eugene on the chess set in the living room, bites back a laugh when you ask to see Abraham flex his bicep as a joke, and Rosita nearly pushes you away. When you ask Tara if she thinks you’re hot, all teasing until she blushes - and as everyone trickles out to go to bed, you end up sitting next to Rick on your regular spot on the couch. 

You’re such a tease. Such a flirt. Daryl wonders how you grew up, that you’re just so used to getting your way. So used to having people see you the way that you want, know that nobody would ever tell you no. Nobody can ever stay mad at you, or annoyed with you. You’re just…magic. Beyond the new feminine clothes that you picked up in Alexandria, even back when the group was on the road - there was something about you that was unlike any other woman Daryl had met.

Maybe it’s because of your father. Daryl can’t imagine growing up with a man like that. Especially as a woman as girly as you. Your father was cool - tough, strong, smart. Told war stories that made Daryl’s head almost explode, and he loved listening to that shit. Loved being able to trust another man, take some of the load off his and Rick’s back. But he was strict. 

Always giving you a hard time. Telling you what to do. In a way, since he passed, it’s like Rick turned into him - took some parts of his personality at least, when it comes to you. 

You’re a virgin, probably thanks to your strict father, because girls that look like you should not be virgins still. Daryl can imagine high school and college boys showing up at your door, pictures a nice suburban house, you all dressed up, waiting to be wined and dined and screwed on a Friday night. You deserve a life like that, normal, but you’re never going to get it. There’s no men your age even around now, which is maybe why you’re looking for something in him and Rick - 

Or maybe you’re just looking for a daddy. Since yours is gone. Maybe you’re so used to it, being taken care of, that you want it again. 

Daryl drinks and drinks and drinks until everyone is out of the house. It’s just you and Rick and him, the usual, and he never realized it until now, that people might be purposely keeping their distance from all of you. One thing, to see a girl like you with an older man, but two of them? Hell, Daryl would wanna keep his distance too. 

Just the three of you. In the living room. You drape your legs over Rick’s lap and lean back against the arm of the couch, and Daryl just watches. Your legs are cute. The little bit of skin that sticks out between your shirt and your jeans where the button digs in is cute too. Sexy. Seeing your body fill out ever since you got to Alexandria is a turn on that Daryl didn’t know he had. 

You’d look good at any size, any weight, in any outfit. Just that kind of woman. But seeing you gain some weight now that there’s proper access to food is nice to see. Makes Daryl happy, in a weird way, knowing you’re taken care of and -

“Daddy.” 

Daryl and Rick both freeze, make eye contact across the coffee table and then both turn to you. With both eyes on you, you shyly giggle, and Daryl truly can’t tell if it’s a role you’re playing or if this is you.

“Come on now,” Rick says lightly, pushing your feet off of his lap. Gently, of course, but you plop them right back down. He sighs, but relents. You’ve really got Rick wrapped around your little finger. 

“What? Just seems right to call you that,” you explain, and Daryl laughs. Can’t help but talk shit about Rick too, because honestly, he’s drunk enough for it. 

“Yeah, man. She ain’t wrong. Got you doting on ‘er and adorin’ her. Takin’ care of her too. You sure you ain’t her daddy?” The playful mood of Daryl’s doesn’t come out much, but he and Rick have been through a lot together. They’re like brothers. Besides, it’s funny. 

Daryl has to laugh so he doesn’t get hard.

Rick is embarrassed, but he laughs anyway. Shakes his head. “You’re one to talk, man,” he says, running a hand over his face. “Two words: Piggyback. Ride. You do a lot for this girl, Dixon,” he looks like he wants to say something else, but he doesn’t. Daryl smirks, shrugs, and you furrow both eyebrows and tilt your head to the side. 

“Piggyback ride sounds like three words. Piggy,” you hold up your fingers, attempting to count. “Back. Ride. Yeah, three.” Daryl and Rick are silent as they look at each other, and then they burst out laughing. You grin, which is how they both know you’re fucking with them. Playing that role you love so much.

It’s cozy in the house, and Daryl is suddenly hit with the itch he has to run somewhere less warm. Candles are lit, the heat is on, the wall is secure and everything feels pretty good right now. You’re all like family, have been through so much, and as much as Daryl wants to sink into this moment, he also wants to run away. You must catch the look on his face. 

You sit up, drawing your knees to your chest. Like you’re protecting yourself. You change the subject, before anyone can interrupt you. 

“Have you put any thought into it?” You ask, looking at Daryl, then Rick. They’ve both got no idea what you’re talking about. You sigh, annoyed, then continue. “Taking my virginity. Will you do it?”

Shit. 

You really were serious about that shit? Daryl doesn’t know what to say to that. 

He thinks about what to say, but Rick cuts him off. “Still can’t believe that you’re a virgin,” he says, shaking his head. “You’ve done nothing?” You blush so pink, Daryl wonders if you have superhuman speed and you snuck into the bathroom without him noticing to put on some of that weird pink makeup shit women love to wear.

“I’ve done…other stuff,” you say, as if to prove yourself. “Oral sex, and sometimes ana,” Rick will not let you finish that sentence, thank god. Daryl breathes a sigh of relief as he says, “Don’t. Don’t wanna hear about you letting boys touch you. You gotta lot bravery, kid, acting like a little tease when you’ve never even had a man inside of you. That Daddy shit too. You crazy or something?”

You’re still embarrassed, but you roll your eyes. Rick turns his body more towards you, likes the way you blink at him, lashes long and eyes wide, like you’re waiting for what he’s going to say. 

“Maybe I just know what I like. I’m a modern woman and I -” you start going on and on, as you do. And it’s cute, really. Rick likes it, how much you talk, can pretend to be annoyed by it but he really doesn’t want to ever miss a word. But this time he zones out, and all he can focus on is the way your lips look, open and talking and nagging, and he doesn’t want to hear it anymore. Thinks that maybe, since you want it so fucking much - he should help you out. 

Should put that pretty mouth to good use, shouldn’t he? Sounds like a good idea to him. 

He stands up, liking the way you look up at him. Like you’re waiting for him to give you directions. He feels his dick swelling up - but then again, he’s been half hard ever since you said daddy. He nods his head to you, motions for you to stand up too -

And because he’s daddy, yeah yeah, he puts a hand out for you to grab it. He helps you up, while you and Daryl look at him like he’s a crazy person. Rick nods to Daryl too. 

“You comin?’” He asks, nodding toward the stairs. He squeezes your hand. “Think we oughta give her what she wants now. Been patient, ain’t that right?” He looks to you, and you nod, so over eager you almost trip over your own feet. Rick looks back to Daryl. 

“‘Bout time we give her what she wants.”

────

“Is it going to hurt?” You ask, because after all this talk, all this teasing, now that you’re really in Rick’s bed - you’re so scared of what’s to come. You’re not scared of Rick and Daryl, because you literally trust them with your life. You’re scared of what it’s going to feel like, having something inside of you that’s bigger than a few fingers. 

You look at Daryl and Rick at the side of the bed. Daryl looks a little more hesitant than Rick, keeps watching you like he’s sure you’re going to say you don’t want to do this anymore, but you’d never, no matter how scared you are. Rick looks at you as he takes his belt off, leans down and rubs a hand comfortingly on your head, scratches at your scalp. 

“Won’t hurt too bad,” he says a moment later, in just his boxers. “Gonna have Daryl lick you out, get you nice and wet so it’s easy for me to slip in. ‘Be easy to stretch you out after you’ve cum a few times, ain’t that right, Daryl? You cool with that?” Something about Rick ordering Daryl around is doing it for you. You’re scared, but you’re pleasantly tipsy, limbs loose and brain sharp, focused on the feeling of arousal pooling in your panties, stomach warm with the possibility of what’s to come. 

“Sure have thought about this, man,” Daryl says in reply, and he walks to the edge of the bed to get on his knees. It’s funny, because he’s right - Rick’s been all, you’re too young for me, kid and I’d never go against your father’s wishes, he was my friend, but here he is, ordering the two of you around like he’s had this scenario planned out in his head for months. Maybe he’s just drunk, or maybe he’s just a born leader. Whatever it is, both you and Daryl obey, and your cunt drips at the thought. You make a whiny noise. 

“You gonna get her clothes off or what, man? Think that’s a job for her daddy, ain’t it?” Daryl says, one hand looping around your ankle, wanting to pull you down to the edge of the bed to go down on you. You whimper, voice leaving your throat, because Daryl using that nickname in regards to Rick is making your head spin. 

How many times have you had a finger on your clit with your legs tightened, trying to squeeze an orgasm out, with the only thought in your head daddy daddy daddy while you thought about Rick or Daryl playing with your pussy, ordering you around, fucking you so hard it hurt to talk? Too many fucking times. In your fantasies, you imagined your father finding out, wanting to get back at him for every horrible thing he ever did to you by fucking both of his friends. 

Look at me now, dad, you think, warmth spreading throughout your body because you’re a sicko. It’s so hot, being bad, being grown enough to do this but young enough to know that it’s naughty and wrong.

Not that you only want to fuck Rick and Daryl to get back at your dad. No, they'd still be hot as hell even if you didn't have issues.

Rick sits you up. Maneuvers you like you're a fragile doll, all while you try to commit the look of him shirtless, skin slightly tanned, the scruff on his face, to memory. The look of Daryl at the edge of the bed, wanting to pleasure you. Rick’s calloused hands, fingers taking off your shirt and then your pants, handing them to Daryl to put off to the side. You can take your own clothes off, but Rick wants to, and for some reason that sends your brain blank.

This is what you’ve been waiting for. 

“Lay back down,” Rick says gently, pulling his own boxers off. His cock is hard, and he jerks it for a second, holds the head of it loosely and rubs his thumb over the tip, spreads the precum around and lets out a soft breath. “You’re alright, sweetheart. Let Daryl get you nice and wet so I can fill you up. Can you do that? Know you want it,” and since you’re naked now, Daryl pulls you all the way to the edge of the bed, where he spreads your legs and keeps your knees under his big hands to keep them apart, licks a stripe from your hole up to your clit. “Know you’ve been thinking about it,” Rick says watching. 

Rick has a nice cock, just like you expected. It’s big, pink and veiny, and under the dim lights in the bedroom the look of the head all covered in precum makes you lick your lips. Rick must see that, because he moves to sit by your head, chuckling like he can read you that easily even when you're spread open for his friend to lick your pussy.

You shiver.

Daryl pulls away, the warm feeling of his mouth gone, and it makes you ache. “Ain’t that something,” Daryl murmurs, head leaned against your thigh for a second. “Pussy just as pretty as the rest of ya’.”

Holy fuck. You lean back, gripping at the sheets of the bed, until Rick grabs your hand. He alternates between squeezing your hand and brushing your hair away from your face. You’ve had oral sex before, sure, but those times were all with preppy suburban boys who didn’t want to get dirty. You’ve seen the way Daryl eats. Slurps, fucking goes all in. He’s doing the same on your pussy, and his tongue is so warm, so wet, you try to close your thighs around his head because the stimulation is just too much but it’s impossible with the way he’s holding you down. Your back arches, and you squeeze Rick’s hand so tight you worry you’re going to break it.

“Not done yet,” Daryl scolds, pulling away from your cunt with a glossy chin. Rick tsks you as well, tells you to relax and take it, to cum all over Daryl’s tongue so he can fit his dick inside of you. 

It only takes a minute more, of Daryl sucking on your clit while slipping a finger inside of you, prodding around like he’s curious, and for Rick to say, “Dirty girl, you are. Letting a man twice your age stick his tongue inside you. Daddy’s gotta keep an eye on you,” because woah. Just. Fucking hell. You cum with a cry, moaning Daryl’s name like a prayer while bucking your hips up, pussy squeezing his fingers that are prepping you for Rick’s cock. 

Daryl keeps licking, sucking, until you thrash and cum again and Rick tells him to stop. Not because you can’t handle it, no, it’s probably because Rick is so ready to fuck you, his dick is literally leaking onto his fingers. Both of his hands are going to ache, from the way you’re squeezing one and the way he’s jacking himself off with the other. He grabs some of his own mess, sticky, and uses his pointer finger to spread it over your lips like lip gloss. He grins, all sexy and cocky - and you’re not even thinking, body so trembly and hot from Daryl eating you like you're his last meal. 

Daryl Dixon eats pussy like it’s going to make him cum. You wonder if maybe it could, file that fantasy away for another time.

“Thank you, Daddy,” you murmur in regards to the lipgloss, and you lick your lips to taste it. Tongue pink and wet, expression fucked out and he hasn’t even got his cock in you yet. 

Rick - he’s gotta fuck you. Like, now.

When Daryl stands up, gets off his knees, you look up at him and ask him to take his clothes off. “Wanna see you, Daryl, please?” You beg, wanting him to get naked. You know he’s sensitive, about his scars and just his body in general. Doesn’t realize how fucking sexy he is, all strong and big and tough and perfect. But he shakes his head. 

“Nah,” he replies, although his voice isn’t scolding. You can tell that he hates disappointing you. He helps Rick pull you up so you’re laying on the pillows, pushes your knees up so your feet are resting flat against the bed, giving easy access to your sopping wet cunt. “Tonight’s about you, girly. Don’t worry ‘bout me.” You pout, but you’re not going to pressure him. He sits beside you on the bed, right next to the pillows, and grabs your hand, looks down at you and for the first time ever: 

Asks if he can kiss you. You nod, You’ve never kissed Daryl before, or Rick for that matter. Have been so focused on cock, you’ve never really thought about it, which is kind of embarrassing. Skipping some steps. You’ve always gotten ahead of yourself.

When Daryl leans down to kiss you, cupping your face with one big hand, you feel Rick grabbing at your tits. He’s such a gentleman, so traditional outside of everything that has to do with you, that his…freakiness is kind of unexpected. But you like the feeling, of him admiring your body, touching your waist and the little plush part of your stomach, rubbing his hands up and down before cupping your breasts, thumb playing with your sensitive nipples. 

Your back arches off the bed, and Daryl’s lips, slow and soft as he dominates your mouth is such a stark contrast to the way Rick is touching you like you’re an object for his amusement, tip of his cock poking into your leg. “Fuckin’ beautiful, just like I imagined. Little body just made to be admired and touched,” he murmurs, and you moan into Daryl’s mouth, which makes more room for his tongue. “Almost feels like a shame to get you all dirty. Break your little pussy in until it craves my cock.”

You’re clinging to Daryl while Rick talks about you, feeling like you’re in heaven with the two men you trust most in the world on top of you. “Bet you want me to though, silly girl. Tell me you want me to ruin you. Want me and Daryl ruin you for anyone else.”

You pull away from Daryl’s lips as best as you can to whine, reach a hand out to Rick to get his attention, as if you need to do that. You always imagined you’d be a seductress in bed, know exactly what to say and do and be confident about it. But right now you can hardly form words, so overwhelmed with having Rick and Daryl hovering over you, it’s hard to even form thoughts - your pussy clenches though. 

“Nobody else. Ever,” you say, voice soft and a little spaced out. You’ve always gotten like this after an orgasm, clingy and spacey and very, very pliable. You whine again. “Cock, Daddy. Please. Now.”

This time, Daryl pulls away, takes a good look at your body and palms himself through his pants. Perfect tits and a perfect body, cute hips and a bellybutton with a scar, must’ve had a piercing at some point, which fits just how sexy and cute you are. Your sweet little socks are still on and you’ve got a shiny anklet on during the middle of the apocalypse. You’re a perfect woman, and what you see in him, Daryl will never understand - but he’s not going to take it for granted. Isn’t going to overstay his welcome either. He makes eye contact with Rick, and yeah, this is uncomfortable. Slightly. 

Because Rick has his dick out. But it’s not like Daryl’s looking at him, no, it’s all about you. He can’t wait to see the way you take Rick’s cock. Can’t believe that he gets to be part of this - because it’s always been Rick, you know? That’s who you wanted first. You want Rick, might even love him, if Daryl is reading the light in your eyes correctly. He wants that for you. Love. He wants whatever you want. 

“Go gentle,” he tells Rick, to which the other man snorts, a noise kind of unsexy given the moment, but you still make grabby hands at him, grip at his biceps so hard and dig your nails in. Rick hisses. “Fuck, alright, alright, ‘m going,” he murmurs, then shoots Daryl a look. “Should tell her to be gentle,” he grumbles. 

Rick positions himself at your entrance, looking at you closely. There’s something Daryl sees there, a spark, so magnetic it’s like a physical thing, the energy between you two. Feels like he’s intruding on something, but he leaves it, just squeezes your hand when you let go of Rick’s arms. 

“You’re good, sweetheart. Gonna feel real good in a second. Hold onto Daryl’s hand, alright? Your Daryl’s got you. Trust him so much. don’t you? Daddy’s got you, gonna be, shit,” Rick pushes himself all the way inside of you, and holy fuck, he’s never felt anything like this before. Didn’t know a pussy could grip this tight while still being so wet. You’re fucking made for him, Rick’s sure of that now, because every thrust and every noise out of your mouth makes his head feel cloudy and his body heat up with nothing but love for you. 

Goddamn, Rick loves you so much. 

He looks down at you and sees a beautiful woman who’s been given the short end of the stick in this life. Deserves so much more than this world, deserves so much more than Rick, and maybe that’s why the idea of Rick and Daryl is okay to him. You deserve it, really, you do - such a pretty young thing with a cunt and a body sculpted by a perverted old god somewhere, and dammit if Rick doesn’t want to protect you and give you anything and everything you could ever want. 

When he cums, spills his seed inside of you and presses his lips to yours in a bruising kiss, he swallows your little noises and without even thinking, reaches for Daryl's hand.

All for you.

────

Daryl tenses up when Rick enters the kitchen, frozen like there’s an animal he’s not trying to spook. Only this time, instead of a deer he wants to make his dinner, his hand is frozen around the handle of a jug of water that’s in the fridge. Purified, because every house in Alexandria has one of these. Spoiled brat suburban people, Daryl thinks, even though he’s technically one of them now. 

He waits for Rick to do whatever he’s going to do in the kitchen, but when he does nothing, just sits there and waits for Daryl to turn around, he knows the reason Rick is even in here right now is to talk to him. Daryl grumbles under his breath. 

“Yeah, man?” He asks, putting the jug of water on the counter and closing the fridge. Rick looks frazzled as fuck. Face red, the buttons on his shirt not lining up, because it looks like he got ready in a rush. He rubs under his nose in a quick gesture he does whenever he’s stressed out. Daryl knows this man well now. Really well. Even knows what he looks like when he cums, and for that - he’s fucking glad Merle’s not alive to see the situation he’s got himself in. 

After that night together, when good ‘ol Rick popped your cherry and Daryl watched on, comforted you - things changed. Without any further conversation, you must’ve taken it as all you needed to go forth and publicly claim Rick. And for that matter, Daryl too. It’s been weeks now, and everyone in the group stays clear whenever you’re all in the room together. You’re always kissing Rick on the cheek, sticking your hand in his jacket pocket to stay close, standing behind Daryl whenever he’s sitting with his back exposed, looping your arms around his neck just to get close or sitting yourself down on his lap at the most inconvenient times. 

He likes it, deep down. ‘Course he does. Daryl fucking loves you, everything about you, even when you’re greedy and spoiled and just plain annoying. Too perfect to be real, and he’d do anything for you. It’s annoying as fuck, but it is what it is. 

Just weird, wondering what people think of all of it. If anyone wonders what happens behind closed doors. When you wake up in Rick’s bed between them, after someone from the group has to literally seek Rick out because he’s been so distracted. Daryl will never forget the look on Eugene’s face, when he saw you in bed between them. Daryl could laugh just thinking about it.

But it’s not good, Rick being distracted. He’s gotta get his shit together, he’s - 

Oh, Daryl can’t talk shit and he knows it. You’re distracting him too. Once you got a taste of cock, of sex, you’ve been insatiable. Daryl hears Merle’s voice calling him a fool in his head whenever Rick watch you go down on him, sucking his cock and cupping his balls while he sits on the edge of the bed. Rick stands behind you, egging you on, pressing the bottom of his shoe against your back to make you take his cock deeper, tells you in a raspy voice, “Atta girl, fuck, mouth made for sucking cock, is that right? Look at you. Making Daryl feel all good. Prettiest little thing in the world, baby. Can’t wait for my turn after.” 

Rick’s a filthy bastard, even to Daryl’s surprise. But - it’s working. All of you. Together. Daryl doesn’t wanna see Rick’s cock any more than he has to, but he’s just happy to be part of something that makes you happy. Like he said, he’d do anything for you. 

And deep down, he knows he’d do anything for Rick too. Man has got him through some of the hardest, toughest shit of his life. Is probably the reason Daryl’s still even alive. People always joke, calling Daryl his guard dog. It pisses him off, because he ain’t no dog, but - they’re not wrong.

After Daryl’s done pouring a cup of water, Rick answers. He’s fidgety, and Daryl doesn’t like it. What the fuck is his problem? Did something happen? Rick’s supposed to be the cool, calm, collected one. But lately he’s been losing his shit. Daryl wonders if it has anything to do with you. 

Truthfully, Rick’s moods usually do have something to do with you. 

Daryl’s stomach sinks thinking something happened to you. 

“You seen ‘er?” Rick asks, looking guilt, like he lost a class pet he was supposed to be caring for or something. “She was supposed to meet me at Deanna’s for a meeting. She’s always runnin’ off, but something feels. I dunno,” Rick runs a hand through his hair, trying to remain calm. “Left Deanna’s and came to bed, thinking she’d show up, but I still haven’t seen her. I told her no more patrolling or guarding the gate, so I doubt she’s doing that. God, man, please tell me you’ve seen her,” Rick really sounds pathetic, Daryl thinks. 

Which scares the shit out of him. Where the hell are you? You’re always running off and doing stupid shit, which is annoying as hell because you’re smart. You know better. It’s almost like you’ve got something to prove to everyone else, especially now that everyone’s been so weird about you with Rick and Daryl. Maybe you left, went on a run without telling anyone? Took a shift patrolling even when you’re not supposed to, just to show you’re tough?

Daryl nods at Rick, like he understands, and then motions towards the door. “You wanna,” he’s about to ask if they should go look for you, but Rick nods, doesn’t even need Daryl to finish. 

They start walking, but it’s dark and Daryl doesn’t know where to find you. He asks, “You check with Maggie and Carol next door?” But he feels like a dick for even asking that. Of course Rick did, he’s not a fucking idiot. 

Rick nods, looks like he’s thinking the same thing, and then it’s silent except for the scuffing sound of them walking along the dirty streets. Rick makes a mental note to talk to Deanna about cleaning them up, figure out how to do so without taking too much energy out of everyone when there’s other important labor that needs to be done. 

“She’s drivin’ me crazy, man,” Rick says, shaking his head when Daryl looks over. He obviously knows Rick is talking about you. “So much shit going on, and she chooses right now to go missing? To not listen. It’s cute an’ all, sometimes. Gotta admit. That stubborn little streak, but hell,” they stop walking for a minute, turn to each other. “She’s fuckin’ killing me.”

Daryl gets it. Rick knows he does. But there’s nothing he can say that will make the situation better. Besides, as much as they get along, learning to properly share you and not get all up in their feelings about it - the boundaries are still a little blurred. Need to be discussed. Is Daryl allowed to tell Rick what to do when it comes to you? He’s got some thoughts, wants to tell Rick to stop spanking you for fun and instead use it to properly teach you a lesson. 

But he thinks that’d be overstepping his boundary. It already happened once, when Daryl walked in on Rick fucking you one morning. He was spooning you, dick buried deep inside of you, gripping your jaw while he told you filthy things that turned Daryl red. He didn’t mean to watch, but shit was going down with Deanna and Rick was nowhere to be found so of course Daryl went looking, and then he saw Rick hit you lightly in the face and Daryl couldn’t just stand by and watch that. 

Not you, so sweet that you spent last night massaging Daryl’s back even when he tried to scare you off of touching him like that multiple times. You kissed his scars, made up fake stories about where each of them came from - shark bite, alien surgery, some other bullshit that made him laugh. You said the truth about their origin made you sad. You cuddled him and kissed him and told him you love him, and he still feels like a dick for not replying. Not saying it back.

Daryl’s just not good at that shit. Hates himself for it, but he’s just not. ‘S why he doesn’t deserve you. 

But you and Rick are fucking weird. Sexually, Daryl is still learning. Rick made him look under the covers that day he smacked you, made you tell him how wet you were, how much you liked it a little rough just so Daryl wouldn’t beat his ass for putting his hands on you. And don’t get Daryl started, when you start sucking on his fingers, trying to have a normal conversation with Rick over a beer while you lick and suck his digits until one of them gives you the real thing - dick.

You’re a force, that’s for sure. And when Daryl and Rick hear your laugh by the opening gate of Alexandria, they both know that, once again - you went against their wishes. If you’re putting yourself in danger just to get punished, they need to have a talk with you. Because it’s not that you’re not qualified to stand watch - there’s just no need. 

Daryl would happily take any shift of anything if it meant you were safe. But you just don’t fucking listen, and every step closer to you is making Daryl, and Rick, for that matter - more and more pissed. 

“You’re a pretty little thing, you know that? Tell me, who’s in charge here? Certainly can’t be you. No offense, you’re just,” a pause, and when Daryl finally sees who it is you’re talking to, the voice finishes, “Too fuckin’ pretty.”

Rick and Daryl find you, weapon in hand, but you’re relaxed and casual and talking to someone on the other side of the gate. You wouldn’t be able to defend yourself while you’re all loose and giggly, when this is probably the most serious job in the fucking community. Daryl wants to haul you over his shoulder, take you home and smack your ass blue. He’s never been so pissed, and who the fuck is in the watchtower letting this shit happen?

The voice talking to you belongs to a man, tapping a baseball bat against the fence with a smile on his face. But it’s not just him. There’s at least three trailers behind him, spread out, and Daryl doesn’t even have to look at Rick to know he’s about to go psycho. 

Good, Daryl thinks, he’ll join him. What the fuck were you thinking, not calling for backup?

“Not exactly taking in new people right now. Supplies are…tight,” Rick lies, but you jump in, and it’s the first time Daryl has really seen how naive you are. Realizes that he and Rick have been putting you at a disadvantage - first you had your father, making all the choices for you, protecting you. And you got lucky with Rick and Daryl. Have never actually met a bad man in your life.

Just because someone is smiling, doesn’t mean they’re a good person. Are you - no, because Daryl doesn’t want to think anything mean about you, but surely you don’t think because the man standing behind the opening to the community is handsome, that he’s safe? Maybe you heard Rick talking about the community needing more men? But this is - goddamn, you have to understand that it didn’t mean letting random men into the community? At night? While you’re all alone? 

They’ve got to teach you better. Daryl is kicking himself right now.

“Rick, he’s friendly. They just need a place to stay and,” Rick cuts you off, grabs you by the shoulder and pushes you behind him. Sort of rough, but in this case? Daryl is glad. 

“No,” Rick says firmly, standing tall and firm. His hand is clenched into a fist so tight, Daryl worries he’s about to shatter the bones in his hand. His other hand is on his gun, and Daryl wonders where this is going to go. “C’mon,” he tells you, grabbing at your hand, but you slap it away.

Oh, you’re going to fucking get it when you’re back home. You’re going to wish Rick was the one spanking your little ass, because Daryl has never been so pissed at you. 

The man at the gate laughs, tip of his bat digging into the dirt. Daryl’s pretty good about picking up vibes of people, and this person is making his stomach sink and his skin crawl. Especially when some other men from the trailers walk up. 

“We don’t mean any harm,” the man says, and that’s sarcasm Daryl detects. He’s about to just start shooting, has a loaded gun on him for a reason, but then the man starts talking again. Directed at you. 

“Tell your daddy what we talked about. He is your daddy, ain’t he?” He asks, another joke that you don’t understand, nodding towards Rick. You shrug, biting on your bottom lip. “No. Well, yeah. Something like that,” you reply, and before anyone can stop you, you reach around Rick to open the gate.

The wood panels at your back groan again as Daryl drives into you, the tempo of his thrusts like sweet euphoria, each one sending little shocks of pleasure rippling through your spine.

“Fuck—” he grunts into the side of your neck, “If your—” he slams up again, his hands firm under your ass, holding you off the ground with your legs tight around his waist, “If your dad catches us—”

“He won’t,” you breathe, whimpering as his grip tightens. “Just… please, Daryl. Don’t fucking stop.”

“Been waitin’ for this,” he mutters, kissing down your throat, lips dragging over flushed skin. “For so long.”

“I know, baby,” you moan, fingers tangled in his hair, tugging at the short strands at his nape. “You feel so good. So, so good—”

He groans as he sinks into you, your walls fluttering around him, stretched wide by his cock. He's so thick, so deep, and hitting places you didn’t know could ache like this. Your whole body clenches around him when he hikes one leg higher, angling deeper, and the moan that leaves your mouth is ragged, sharp, completely involuntary.

And then—

“Y/N?”

You both freeze.

Rick Grimes. Your dad, your ever present, over-bearing father. His voice is unmistakable drifting from the front of the house.

Your breath catches, eyes going wide. Daryl’s head jerks up like a deer caught in headlights. His body stills inside you, every muscle tense and almost trembling.

The voice sounds far enough away—he’s gotta be in the house, maybe the porch. He hasn’t come around back yet. You’re hidden, mostly. Behind the trees, behind the house. You doubt he'd even see you, hidden behind Daryl's body. At least at first glance. Hopefully.

Daryl starts to pull out, but you catch his face, hands sliding from his sweaty neck to cup his cheeks, forcing him to look at you.

“It’s okay,” you whisper. Your lips press into his, warm and open and desperate. He exhales into your mouth, trying to stay quiet as he kisses you back, swallowing the sound of both your sighs.

You pull away just enough to murmur, “Please. Keep—”

“Y/N?” Rick calls again, closer this time.

“Shh,” you whisper, darting a quick glance over Daryl’s shoulder toward the oak trees. “Sh sh sh—just listen—”

Daryl’s jaw clenches, his brow furrowed. “We should stop. Now.”

“Please, Dare,” you whimper, hips rocking gently against him. Your voice is quiet, pleading. “He’s far away. Please, please just fuck me. I need it. I need you.”

His eyes find yours, and suddenly, his mouth crashes into yours again, tongue sweeping in as he starts to move. Slow and shallow at first, he's trying to stay quiet even though every part of him is shaking. The quiet thump of his hips against yours, the creak of the siding, the faint wet sound of him sliding in and out—it’s all too loud in the open Georgia afternoon.

“Christ,” he breathes against your mouth, “You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me.”

He groans, forehead pressed to yours as he fucks you deeper now, picking up speed. Every thrust drives a breath from your lungs, your legs tightening around his hips. You’re so close—so fucking close—and the fact that your dad is somewhere nearby, calling your name, just makes it worse. Better. Hotter.

“Dare, I-I'm so close—” you whisper, your voice cracking. “Please, Daryl—I’m gonna—”

“Yeah,” he pants, breath warm against your cheek, “Yeah, I got you, sweet girl. Come on my cock. Feels so good, don't it? Fillin' you up? Splittin' you open, huh?”

He shifts, angling just right as his filthy words tumble into your ear, hitting that spot that makes your whole body jolt. Your head slams lightly against the siding, eyes rolling back as heat coils low and tight in your belly. Your thighs tremble around his waist.

Daryl groans low in his throat, the sound strained and messy. “So fuckin’ tight, girl, holy shit—don’t stop squeezin’ me like that—”

You bring your head up to bite his shoulder just to keep from crying out, your orgasm hitting hard and fast, your body pulsing around him as you fall apart in his arms. He holds you tighter, fucking you through it, chasing his own end now, his rhythm going sloppy.

“Fuck,” he gasps, his head falling against your chest, “Fuck—fuck, I’m gonna—”

You clutch at him, nails scraping down his back, pulling him as deep as he’ll go. “Do it,” you whisper, still breathless, still pulsing around him. “Come inside me, Daryl, come on—”

He groans into your neck, loud and broken, and you feel the twitch and heat of him spilling inside you as his hips stutter, buried deep. He holds you there, both of you trembling, breathless and flushed and wrecked in the golden light.

Your limbs go loose around him, boneless with satisfaction, and you laugh softly into his shoulder.

Daryl’s still holding you up, still inside you, his face buried against your collarbone. When he lifts his head, there’s a dazed kind of awe in his eyes. He smiles—soft and real, like he can’t believe he actually got to have you.

You giggle, light and breathy. “Told you he wouldn’t—”

The words die in your throat.

The sound of boots crunching in dry grass cuts through the quiet. You hear the swish of tall grass, the steady tread of someone rounding the side of the house.

Both of you freeze—tangled, sweaty, completely exposed.

And then Rick Grimes steps into the sunlight.

You, pinned against the back of the farmhouse, skirt bunched around your hips, legs locked around Daryl’s waist. Daryl’s pants are half-down, his hand still gripping your ass, his cock still buried inside you. Sweat clings to both of you, and your mouth is open, chest rising and falling.

Daryl doesn’t breathe.

Rick doesn’t blink.

“Oh, God,” you whisper.

Your dad's voice is low, furious, deadly: