Y/N, Giggling: You Sneeze Like A Girl.

Y/N, giggling: You sneeze like a girl.

Daryl: How ‘bout I pound ya like a boy?

Daryl: …

Daryl: Tha’ didn’ come out righ’.

Y/N: I know what you meant. Your place or mine?

Daryl: Yers.

REMEMBER.

minors dni. 2.6k words. smut. daryl dixon x fem!reader. protective daryl. hint of size kink. strength kink.

It's easy to forget his strength when his touch is always so gentle. When you're safe, he lets you forget everything he's capable of; the reason you've both made it this long.

Safety lets you forget.

And then—when it inevitably all it all goes to shit again—you remember.

"Get in!" he calls through the wall of bodies separating you. He keeps the attention of most of them, but there's a few stumbling in your direction—too many for you to handle alone. "Now!" he shouts as he takes another growling walker down.

It goes against every instinct you have—to leave him to fight this alone. But this was his domain. This was when you did whatever the fuck he told you to do. It was how you survived.

You drag the door of the container open, grunting as the heavy metal fights back. It's a makeshift prison cell, one that was supposed to be filled with live bait for the walkers. It would be if it weren't for Daryl. He was almost single-handedly dismantling whatever fucked up enterprise you'd both stumbled upon.

One of them reaches you before you'd manage to push the gate open enough to slip through.

One is fine. You can handle one.

Turning around to deal with it gives you a split second to check in on Daryl. He's making a dent in the mass of bodies, but it's not enough. Not with the shouts of the living making their way closer.

You kick the walker you've knifed back into the mass of bodies approaching, giving you just enough time to slip through the crack you've made in the sliding door and slam it closed behind you.

Locking it is another story.

You have no hope of accomplishing that.

Still, it's enough for now. It's enough to let Daryl keep his focus where it needs to be as you deal with as many as you can through the bars.

Then one gets shot down. Daryl, is your first thought. But then two are shot down at once. And then the voices reach your ears. Voices are bad. Walkers you can handle. The living was another story. Nothing stoked the fear constantly simmers in your gut like the voices of the living.

They shout over each other, calling directions as they pick off the mass with a spray of bullets. You can't see Daryl anymore. He's either dead or hiding.

Hiding. Hiding. Hiding.

You shift back into one of the dark corners of the container as the shouts draw nearer.

“What the fuck happened?! Don't shoot them you dumb fucks! Get any you can back into holding!”

Any second now... any second they'd find Daryl and your world would end. The living were different. The living were monsters of a different kind.

"They're bunched up around this one!" someone shouts.

You hold your breath.

"Well check it out then!" another demands.

Oh, fuck. You grip your pistol. Your aim was decent. You could take one out, maybe two. But there's a whole group... and they were coming for you.

You scramble to the other far corner as the last of the walkers are cleared from the entrance, hoping to take advantage of the darkest shadows. Daryl would be watching... waiting. Any extra moment you could give him could be vital.

"You better come out now," a man calls from outside. He's just out of your sights, prepared for you to be armed and ready to fight. You'd hoped to have the element of surprise. "I ain't asking."

You know what'll happened when they find you. It's the same thing each time. You're prey to people like these—something to hunt in a world without consequences for that kind of thing.

Your silence buys you less than a minute before the first of them are dragging the metal gate open. If you shoot, they'll shoot back. It's not something you'll survive cornered like this. So you bet on them being the same as the rest. You let them know you're prey.

"Please," you call, as meek and afraid as you can manage—vulnerable. Not a threat. "I'm—I'm unarmed."

Then a bright light blinds you.

"What the fuck?" one of them exclaims. Then, "Where'd the fuck this little thing come from?"

There it was. Little. Thing. You were nothing. You're not a threat. You'd bought Daryl more time.

"Come on out, girl. Come on." They call you like you're a dog, something less than human. That's how they see you. Something to use.

You take a small step forward, still blinded by their flashlights. Daryl was alive. He was alive and hiding and he was waiting for something.

You just had to stay alive.

"What do you... want with me?" you ask, still taking tiny steps towards the light. Weak. Vulnerable. No threat.

You get muffled laughter in response. Guards down. Distracted.

"What do we want? We want a little fun, honey. That's all. Just a bit of fun."

They're flash lights drop as you approach the entrance. They've pulled the gate all the way across.

Five. You count five. If you kill two...

"Why is she alone?" one of them questions. He's younger, a little less distracted.

The rest ignore him. Then one of them has you by the arm, dragging you the rest of the way out of the makeshift cell. They're hands send a wave of repulsion through your body as they grab at you, pulling you around and shoving you in front of them. They may as well be the undead the way their touch feels against your skin.

The young one doesn't move out of the way when you reach him. Instead he stares into you, suspicious and angry. "Who are you with?" he asks. Even then, his gun is lowered. Even to him you aren't a threat.

"Get the fuck out of the way," the man gripping your arm says, clearly irritated and impatient.

"But—"

"Now."

His eyes narrow, but then he steps aside—his back pressed to the wall to let the rest of the men past. It's now that you get a look down into the pit of walkers, the one's they've managed to recapture rather than take out. They reach up towards you, hands grabbing for you.

Then, only a few steps later—you're stopped. The man with his hand wrapped around your elbow leans over your shoulder, his rancid breath invading your nostrils as he speaks. "You alone?" he asks. "You tell me right now."

You blink away the burn threatening to pool tears in your eyes. Were you alone? If you were...

The man's grip tightens, the only warning you get before you're forced to your knees and staring down into the pit of hungry walkers. "Speak," he demands, nails carving into your skin. "I'd hate to waste you like this."

There's two other men behind you. Three surrounding you in total. You could take one out for sure. They hadn't even searched you for weapons. They expected nothing out of you at all.

But then there'd be two, only counting the ones in reaching distance. How long would it take the other two further away to aim their guns in your direction?

You were dying tonight if Daryl was dead, that was certain. Your only hope was that he was waiting and watching... but what would he be waiting for...

Your pistol sits at your hip, a comfortable weight.

You take a deep breath. You could wait to die. Or fight now and hope that's the moment he's waiting for... if he's waiting at all.

The man holding you drops to one knee behind you. He leans over to speak in your ear. You wouldn't need to rely on your aim for the first kill, only any that followed. It was a headstart you weren't likely to get again. You reach for your pistol and before the man can open his lips and taint your senses with his rot once more, you shoot him through the underside of his jaw.

Your ears ring as his body drops. But you were ready. The men behind you aren't.

You were nothing. Prey.

The few seconds that affords you are priceless. You manage to shoot one more through the head before he can get hands on his own weapon.

The third is another story. His gun is pointed at you for what must be milliseconds. They drag though, those moments with an enemy weapon pointed at your head always do.

But then Daryl is there, strangling the man with a rifle and shoving his body into the ground with a force that reverberates through the metal. It's only when he snaps the man's neck you spot the bodies behind him.

He'd been waiting for you.

You watch him stand, hair hanging in his face and his chest rising and falling with his deep breaths.

Then his eyes are on you.

Then his hands.

Those hands... the same ones he'd used seconds earlier to break a man's neck. His fingers are feathers across your skin as he brushes the hair back off your face. "Okay?" he asks, soft and a little shaky.

You nod.

"You did good," he says, that deep gravel back in his voice. "So good, sweetheart." His hand makes a trail down to your neck, gentle and slow over your pulse point to rest at your clavicle. "We gotta go," he says. "Stay close for me, yeah?"

—————

The first time after is always the same—after you're forced to remember. It adds something to the way his gentle hands feel as he reaches over your hips to dip between your legs. To the way his body feels pressed up behind yours.

His thick fingers slip between your slick folds as he holds you tight against his chest. Heat. It's an overwhelming heat. He crowds you, practically curled around you.

"You like that sweetheart?" His voice is almost sweet as his lips graze your ears and his long hair tickles your skin. "Huh? You like that?"

You nod with a small whine, pressing your hips back into him—desperate.

He sighs, finger prodding over and over at your swollen entrance—a teasing little hint of what's to come. He dips in slightly, his calloused fingertip pressing into your slippery, spongy entrance just enough to have you whimpering his name.

"Fuck," he grunts. "You need me here? Huh? You all fuckin' empty?"

"Yeah," you whine with a desperate nod. "Empty."

His grip around your ribs tightens for a moment before he's pressing you into the ground—cushioned by the few blankets you carry. He's rolled you onto your belly as he covers you completely, his warmth seeping into your skin from his calves to his hot breath on your neck.

"What do you need?" he asks. As if he doesn't know; as if he didn't always know.

"You."

"Hm?" he hums, sweet and coaxing. "How?"

You reach blindly to find his wrist, gripping it firmly. "Hold me tight," you gasp between jagged breaths. "Please... Please."

His weight is heavy over you as he drops his lips to your neck, a silent acknowledgement of your pleas.

Then he's scooping you up, lifting you and rearranging you exactly the way you want him to. Because he fucking knows.

He has you pressed to his chest with your tits against his skin as he lays back into the makeshift bed you've created for the night. His arms wrap around you, one across your shoulder blades and the other around your waist—secure and firm. His fingers press sporadically into your skin a little more than needed, like he's testing his grip on you; like he's testing he has you in his arms good and tight.

Then he hooks one leg under yours, a gentle guide to part your legs just the way he needs.

"You ready for me, sweetheart?" he breathes against your temple as one of his hands leaves you. It's temporary, you remind yourself. He'd be wrapping you up securely as soon as he'd buried himself deep; once his cock was guided safely into your throbbing cunt.

You nip at his neck in response, chasing with a delicate lick at his salty skin. "Please," you ask softly.

Then he's adjusting you against him a little, ensuring you're exactly where he needs you to be. "I got you," he says as his leaking tip prods at your entrance. "Got you," he repeats. He mumbles this way as he teases; as he plays. This was what he did: pushed you to the brink of desperate sobs as he guides his cockhead over your slippery, throbbing cunt... over and over.... and over...

Saying he liked you needy was an understatement.

Then, eventually, he slips inside. Just the tip.. and not far. Just enough so that he can wrap his arms around you again. Just enough that he can have you whimpering his name as he prevents you grinding down to take him deep inside.

This is when he gives you a hint of his strength. It's easy to keep you from your goal, his strong arms pressing you into his torso a little harder each time you attempt to resist.

He keeps you there, just with a taste of that fullness—a taste of having him as close as it was possible to be. "Kiss," he says, simple and a little croaky.

You obey, pressing your desperation between his lips. It's messy and interrupted by moments where you simply need to breathe, heavily—his lips chasing yours as you attempt to catch your breath.

"Daryl," you gasp eventually. "Now. Please."

His grip around you tightens a little as you drop your face to his neck.

Then he pulls you down to meet his cock, to fuck himself deep. It's hard, exactly like you need it—exactly the way he knows you want it. You bite into his neck weakly as he keeps you there, stuffed full—the thick throbbing length of him stretching you out so completely.

Then, "Like that?" he asks, that sweetness back in his voice—like he's offering you a gentle back massage instead of holding you down on his cock.

You nod weakly in response.

His fingers press into your skin moments before he's moving, fucking himself with your cunt as he pulls you down to meet his messy thrusts. You're completely pliant like this, all control relinquished.

He's got you.

His breathing is quickly transformed into uneven pants as he attempts to grunt broken sentences into your ear. "Sucking me in... sucking at my cock with your messy little cunt... aren't you, baby? Hm?"

One of his hands moves to your hair occasionally, a temporary and seemingly subconscious attempt to get a better grip—or just to hold you closer. His fingers tangle in the strands, never tugging hard—never hurting.

"My girl," he grunts. "My needy little girl."

It's only when he's nearing his end that he flips you onto your back and you get a real display. He grips your hips and tugs you down to meet him as he uses you, each thrust a slapping of skin and punching a helpless sound from your lungs.

Strength. Everything you've been forced to remember.

"Daryl," you gasp. "Daryl, fill me. Please."

His fingers dig a little more into your skin, his hair falling over his eyes. Then his lips part, a grunt... a broken, "Fuck."

He falls over you as he floods you, his cock twitching and pumping you full—just like you asked. But even then, even as he loses himself, he catches his fall—arms landing either side of your head to cage you in. "Got you," he gasps out between desperate lung fulls of air. "I got you."

talking or thirsting?

rick grimes x greene!fem!reader requested by anon ib: @writella/@xowritella 🫶

wc: 1.8k summary: rick and lori's relationship has been tense, he needs to find a sanctuary, he found you. warnings: mdni, age gap (reader is 19), cheating, slight perv!rick, virginity loss, oral (f!receiving), size kink, PiV, cum eating

18+ under the cut.

"how long?" she just stared back at him, he couldn't even look at her. he tried his best to see the woman he feel in love with, the woman he had a child with but all he could see was a lying, cheating, slut. "how long did it go on? when did it start?" he looked up at her, eyes filled with rage, disgust and most of all, hurt. "a few weeks..." she sighed. "a few weeks? you'd known i was dead and you started fuckin' my best friend after a few weeks?" he scoffed, wondering what would've happened if she didn't fall pregnant, would she have just lied? "rick, you're alive, i stopped as soon as i knew that." rick almost gagged at her words, he was so disgusted, he couldn't take it anymore. he got up and stormed away.

"daddy please!" your little sister whined begging to make a pie for the people who camped outside, "we don't know 'em, beth!" maggie interrupted, folding her arms judgingly, you smirked at maggie's statement, she knew what you were thinking, 'don't know 'em but she'd screw one of 'em' making refrence to maggie and glenn, you wouldn't dare say that out loud, in front of your father that is.

"fine, one pumpkin pie" your father had finally given up, "you'll help her, won't you?" your father looked at you, trusting you to make sure beth doesn't burn down the kitchen.

it smelled like heaven, the crisp crust, sweet inside, your secret was to add extra cinnamon and sugar. just enough to make your mouth water. you threw on your boots, holding the pie as beth took the plates and silverware. you walked outside to the campsite noticing the man with the shaved head first, something about him rubbed you the wrong way, ever since otis. that's when you saw him, rick grimes.

now he rubbed you the right way. well, more like you did. late at night, the moonlight shining through the thin veils of your bedroom, your hand would make its way into your panties, your fingers playing with your clit, running circles over it before you hesitantly pushed a finger inside of you. it didn't feel good unless a certain sheriff popped into your head. you'd never actually had sex before, but the thought of your first being with rick always gave you something to think about late at night.

"we made pumpkin pie" you smiled innocently, rick walked over placing his hands on his hips. "what's the special occasion?" he asked, a smile creeping onto his face, "well, it wasn't my idea, it was beth's, jus' wanted to do something nice" rick nodded in gratitude. "anyway, maybe you should come inside and eat, looks like a storm is coming" everyone had followed you into the dining room.

rick couldn't help but to notice your legs, eyeing how beautiful they were, slowly looking upwards, wondering what color your panties were-

"this is delicious, probably the best pie i've ever tasted" lori's voice snapped rick out of his filthy thoughts. "damn straight" shane smiled at lori, this made rick's blood boil, he grunted in anger before getting up and storming outside. everyone looked at lori and shane confused.

you got up and followed rick outside to the side of the house, "rick" he ignored you, "rick!" he stopped before turning around his eyes softened when he saw you. he looked like he was about to break down, like his world had just crumbled. "wanna talk 'bout it?" you kicked a rock you'd seen on the ground, "don' wanna burden you sweetheart" he shook his head and smiled.

'sweetheart' what a cute little nickname for you.

" 't's no burden, i swear" you reassured, grabbing his hand to make him focus on you. he jolted to your touch; it had taken him by surprise. "sorry, i jus'... it's lori" he finally admitted, a sigh of relief leaving his chest. " 'm sorry" you stared deep into his eyes.

talks like that started to happen more often, and more in depth. eventually it became a habit for rick to find you whenever he was frustrated, throwing tiny rocks at your window before sneaking into your room to talk. "ya look so pretty in the dress, doll" he smiled sitting down on your bed, smoothing out some creases on the bedsheets, "thank you, 'm gonna change so..." you made reference to rick being able to see you. he understood and covered his eyes with his hands, as you quickly slipped on a cute pink nightie.

little did you know, rick had taken a sneak peek to see your beautiful body, and boy was it worth it. he admired every single inch of you, from your locks to your legs, all leaving nothing to the imagination. rick's cock began to stir in his pants, imagining how fucking hot it would be, fucking your tight little cunt, in that nightie you were slipping on, oh how badly he wanted to split you into two.

"rick... rick!" he pulled his hands away from his face, his face clearly flustered. "you okay? you seem... tense" you teased sitting down next to him on the bed, your hand brushing his thigh. he jolted to your touch, "yeah jus' uhm" he couldn't think of a valid enough excuse so he had no choice but to pretend to yawn.

almost thirty minutes in and you and rick have been back a forth in conversation, discussing how rick should move forward with the lori situation. "she was the love of my life." he sighed, a vein clearly visible on his temple. "i feel so goddamn hurt" but he sounded angry. "your feelings are vaild" you innocently rubbed his back in a comforting way.

goddammit, it was like you knew exactly what to say, he shouldn't feel this way about you. you were practically half his age, if not more. "dammit baby, you're too kind, what did i do to deserve someone like you?" he pulled you in for a tight hug, your nightie riding up a little.

when the hug was broken, rick stared into your eyes, your lips inches apart. your lips grew closer, eventually joining. a sweet whimper left your mouth, the vibrations felt on rick, as you began to straddle him. "rick!" you whined as he grabbed your as, making him move his palm over your mouth. "gotta be quiet sweetheart, got it?" you slowly nodded when rick moved his hand away. "i-i've never done anythin' like this" you sheepishly admitted, you got off rick's lap, sitting down next to him. "what?" he looked over at you with surprise.

"i-i'm a virgin" his eyes widened, "i thought i was gonna wait 'til marrige, but, you know, dead people everywhere" he let out a slight chuckle, "we don' have t'do anythin' you know" he reassured but you nodded your head no. "i didn' finish, i wanted t'say that i thought i was gonna wait but i can't, not with you around" you smiled, a grin creeping on his face.

"take this off" he pointed at your nightie, and you desperately did, rick admiring your body, again. "no panties?" he raised a brow, you blush. "normally, when ya leave, i to-touch myself" you bite down on the flesh of your bottom lip. "oh yeah? d'you think 'bout me?" he smiles rubbing your thigh, getting dangerously close to your soaking cunt. "mhm, all the time, even before we got close" your breath hitched as rick ran a finger over your cunt, "feel good?" he looked up to see you nodding vigorously. "ye-yeah" he smiled before getting down, his face inches away from your cunt.

he rubbed your clit before running his tongue over it. a little yelp leaving your lips, you slapped your palm over your mouth to shut yourself up when rick looked up at you.

your pussy was everything rick could imagine and more. he'd never admit it due to the fear of being called a hypocrite but once, when rick had sex with lori at the farm, they had a fight, she swore she heard your name slip from rick's lips, and rick had no choice but to deny it even though lori's instinct was right. every time rick fucked her, he would be thinking about you, wishing he was fucking you or else he wouldn't finish.

"oh shit" you breathed out, your fingers running through his hair, as rick sucked on your clit, his one finger, slowly fucking you, feeling better than you could have ever imagined. he moved upwards, kneading your breast with one hand as his tongue rubbed around your nipple on the other, sucking, surely leaving marks where he could. "hmph" you whined once more. he couldn't take it anymore. "sweetheart, you sure you want me to be your first?" he stood up, his chest moved up and down, trying to catch his breath. "yes rick, please"

withing milliseconds, rick was unbuckling his belt, pulling down his jeans and his boxers. "don' worry it'll fit. i'll make it fit" he reassured when he noticed how your eyes widened seeing how big his cock was. you took a deep breath as rick got on top of you, his fingers intertwining with yours. he stopped for a moment, looking in your eyes, "rick please, i need you so bad" you whined.

slowly he began to push himself into you, stretching your sweet cunt out, rick waited a moment before pulling out, almost completely and thrusting back into you again. "fuck, angel, you're so tight" his breath against your ear, sending goosebumps down your spine. rick's other hand, subtly resting on your mouth, a 'ssh' leaving his lips every once in a while, when you'd let out a moan.

he began to speed up, each thrust more passionate and loving than the last. you clenched onto the sheets. "oh fuck" he sighed, his cock twitching in your cunt. "'m gonna have t'pull out baby" his thrusts getting sloppier, "need t'cum" you sighed against his palm, "cum baby, all over my cock, please" it sounded like his voice broke.

he didn't need to fuck lori, passionate sex with you felt like a dream, and rick didn't want to wake up.

pulling out, rick jerked himself off some more before he came all over your belly. your mouth agape, your eyes wide. suddenly rick ran his fingers over his cum, scooping it up and running his fingers in your mouth, the sweet and salty taste making you feel as if you were high, rick almost came again, just at the sight of you eating his cum.

the next day. you and rick tried your absolute best to pounce on each other like wild animals, feeling more confident, your skirts slowly became shorter, your shirts became tighter, rick became harder.

"you okay? 'been actin' strange all week?" your father would ask at breakfast the next morning, "mhm, just had a good night, tha's all" he smiled and nodded.

a great fucking night indeed.

taglist: @poosayfressh@darylswifeeyy@cj-ghostemoji-destielpie@rickswh0r3@cjmonsterwolf @grixonsdoll @2svnder @raininhell @lilies-valley@dustbunniess @hutchersonsgurl @taylormarieee @angelynn-nicole @secretmelanie@taylorinluv@marine-mayday@the-dixon-effect@annhells@kieraniamhh🔪

bakugou would take ALL your instagram pictures he’d be kneeling on the floor to get the best angle would take MULTIPLE pictures so u can choose your favourite he would direct them telling you the best places to place ur hands and would mutter compliments under his breath all scratchy n gruff like “fuckin gorgeous” “so beautiful baby” “ur ass looks great” which ends up in getting those cliche pictures of ur hand over ur face because u get embarrassed and your hand grabbing for the phone whining “stoooooop” and he’d just be grinning like “wasn’t done”

also would never take a selfie but would always be in a selfie with u ALWAYS and he is so gorgeous his relaxed expressionless face is all modelesque and just PRETTY so you’d be big teethy smiles n he’d either frown or tyra banks smize or SMOULDER

i think this can count into my influencer!reader universe so

Fake It Til You Make It (Or Drown)

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Summary: Daryl finds out you faked an orgasm. Instead of getting mad, he decides to get even.

Warnings: NSFW. Every TWD character is drunk in this. Unprotected p-in-v. Soiling Michonne’s decorative towels and almost drowning Eugene. Carol-mandated makeup time with Daryl turns to edging and angry sex.

And the Oscar for Best Faked Orgasm goes to…

“Y/N,” Daryl groaned, shooting his load deep inside you.

You arched your back and curled your toes, even let out a sultry little gasp for good measure. Forced your walls to clench around his cock then pulse, periodically—you counted a silent one, two, squeeze in your head every so often and tried to make it so your tremors felt authentic. You practically had this shit down to a science by now.

Women like you weren’t built for quickies. You needed more time to cum, no matter the occasion.

You simply couldn’t and wouldn’t ever make it to climax with fifteen seconds of foreplay followed by Daryl throwing you up against the counter and jackhammering you hard on the edge for three minutes max. This wasn’t a porno, and you didn’t have a clit made of firecrackers.

Men like Daryl couldn’t stand the thought of you not cumming every time you had sex, though, so you sought to ease his mind on the matter during times you knew it was a physical impossibility to reach bliss. A liar you were not, but an occasional teller of euphoric fibs? Hell, you might’ve been tempted to dabble every now and then.

You adored the way he looked down at you when he finished, chocolate locks matted to his forehead and a smile shining bright on his face. He was tender and sweet, always gentle to pry you off of the sink, and he’d be watching you with admiration all the while.

Rick and Michonne’s booze-fueled pool parties had that effect on you both—always scrambling for a spare room to fuck in the second you arrived like you’d forgotten how good the other one looked dressed in swimwear.

Daryl shimmied the bottom half of your lime green bikini back up your legs and patted your rear with affection.

“I think Rick would be proud,” he said.

“I think Michonne would be pissed.”

You glanced down at the lovely little decorative towels Daryl had used as a sweat rag and made a mental note to wash those back at your place. You yelped when Daryl dropped his hand back down to your heat.

“Still sensitive?” he smiled.

“Uh huh.”

You were already trying to slide past his frame toward the bathroom door, where the sounds of the party outside were growing louder each minute. In truth, you knew that spot where Daryl’s fingers had almost grazed would have been a lot more sensitive had you actually just came, and that tell alone would have given your act away. You couldn’t have that, so you quickly pulled him in for a kiss and pushed his hands back up to your hips.

Daryl’s tongue traced the seal of your lips and parted them for a far more passionate kiss than you’d expected. You let his tongue roam anyway, but inside, you felt slightly confused as to why your boyfriend was still so…horny when he’d just blown his load a minute ago.

You moved languidly toward the door as Daryl continued to kiss you. He was touching your waist a little strangely, the more you came to think of it. Maybe frisky from the whiskey?

Your hand reached the doorknob the second his did. Daryl pulled away and let the corners of his mouth twist almost cruelly in a grin before turning the handle and nudging you out.

You shuffled a few awkward steps past the door. Daryl was hot on your heels, hand at the small of your back when his lips returned to your ear—just for a second, this time. He leaned in close, now, and murmured real low:

“I know you faked it.”

Then he pushed you forward again, only for you to trip over your own two feet trying to turn and face him.

“What?” you hissed. Playing dumb.

But if you could play dumb, Daryl was more than happy to play stupid as fuck. He ignored your outburst altogether and waved at someone behind you, pretending not to see you staring up at him with exasperation painting your face.

“Eugene! Swim trunks look great.”

Across the room, Eugene extended a lengthy ‘thank you’ and told Daryl that he, too, was looking snazzy, and you knew better than to try and pry Daryl’s attention away. Reluctantly, you turned around and made every effort not to show your present emotions on your face. In truth, you were nervous as fuck wondering what Daryl might do now that he knew you’d faked your climax.

You could try and make it up quick. Minimize the fallout.

The second Eugene departed, and it was just the two of you standing in the kitchen, you shamelessly reached for the outline of Daryl’s dick in his shorts.

Daryl swatted your hand away.

“My penis only goes where it’s appreciated,” he told you quietly, feigning that same stupid smile that signaled to everyone else who might pass by that things were fine.

They weren’t. Daryl probably hated your guts right now.

His seed was still dripping from your cunt, and you longed for the feeling of having him inside you, whole. But you got the sense that that wasn’t happening any time soon, as Daryl promptly greeted two more familiar faces and obliged you to mingle too. You faced Rosita and Abraham with a thinly veiled look of despair, and you gathered that the former picked up on it pretty fast.

“What’s up?” Rosita asked, pulling you to the side while Daryl and Abe chatted.

“I fucked up bad, like— legitimately screwed the pooch.”

“What did you do?”

You pursed your lips and felt the burn of Daryl’s glare over Rosita’s shoulder, sensing then that you’d probably be better off just keeping your mouth shut.

Hurriedly, you said under your breath,

“IfakedanorgasmandDaryl’sreallymad.”

“Daryl’s mad at what? Why?” Rosita said, shrill as ever.

You wanted to clamp your hand over her mouth, but it was too late. Daryl was quick to find your form lingering on his periphery and took your waist in one arm in a lasso-like motion. You guessed you’d be taken off to the slaughter any minute now—which was just getting chewed out by Daryl or given a half-dozen grumpy looks. You almost would’ve preferred the knife to the throat.

Confirming your worst fears, Daryl raised a beer with Abraham and suggested you all go for a swim.

That sounded like a setup if you’d ever heard one.

Perhaps overwrought with paranoia and a few too many Twisted Teas, you found your feet shuffling as slow as you could toward the thick sliding doors and Rosita at your rear asking what the hell was going on.

You made a big, fat ‘O’ with your hands and shook your head, hoping she’d understand—and Daryl wouldn’t see. It turned out neither of your wishes were to come true in that moment, and your boyfriend only pulled you closer to his side while the four of you strolled outside.

“Real mature,” he muttered.

“You’re one to talk,” you retorted.

“Could we please talk at a level most humans can hear?”

That last interjection was Eugene, sidling up to the group with his floaties already strapped to his biceps. You eyed the man, then his beer, then his bright red flotation devices, and hoped like hell Daryl wasn’t about to start playing drunk trivia now that your genius friend was plastered. Or worse yet, encourage him to swim.

“How many lies does the average woman tell in her life?”

You really needed to start keeping your hopes and dreams to yourself. You glared at Daryl.

Eugene was already devising some half-baked formula in his brain, or else retrieving another far-removed factoid that he’d learned on a game show in 2005, and presently answered Daryl’s question with a quirk of his brow.

“I…can’t say it’s a gender-dependent question, my friend. If I were to make an educated guess I’d give—”

“A million more for men,” Rosita interrupted, flashing a wry smile at Abraham, “Most men lie like they breathe.”

“Amen!” Carol called from the tiki bar. You loved and you hated Alexandria’s grown-up parties sometimes.

“Well maybe— maybe men lie more to get sex, but women lie about sex.” Daryl shot the most conspicuous look in your direction, and you’re fairly certain Rick and Michonne shared a look of, ‘Ah shit,’ simultaneously.

Inside, the two were secretly hoping they’d catch wind from the babysitter that Judith and RJ wanted to be picked up, or else learned that a horde of walkers had laid siege on one of the outer-facing walls, because they knew from experience that these fights never ended well. The last time you and Daryl ticked each other off in public there had come a very loud and very obnoxious karaoke rendition of Fleetwood Mac’s ‘Silver Springs’ sung drunkenly between the two of you, and frankly, no one at the party wanted to see a repeat of that.

You wrested your arm out of Daryl’s hold and took a seat opposite Carol at the bar. Nodding when she offered to pour you some tropical concoction with a lot of rum, then pretending not to see Sasha eye Daryl warily.

“Whiskey dick give him trouble?” she murmured to you.

“You say his brother’s name in bed?” Rosita quipped.

“First off, he’s dead,” you said, before dropping your voice to a whisper, “Second, it wasn’t the whiskey or anything, I just…couldn’t cum, so I faked it. That’s it!”

You figured if Daryl was airing out your dirty laundry for the whole group to hear, you might as well beat him to the punch when it came to your closest friends. You could tell Sasha was trying hard not to smirk.

“That’s…that’s it?” she reiterated.

“Just now,” you mumbled, “Don’t tell Rick and Michonne, but we were holed up in the bathroom an—”

“Anyway, okay, no details but you told a little lie, so what?” Sasha proceeded without a hitch.

Carol waved the margarita she was making in vehement agreement and handed it over to you. Telling you to drink, now, with her eyes as soon as she caught a glimpse of Daryl’s disgruntled expression across the way.

“Yeah, so what? You told a fib to keep his ego intact, what’s the harm?”

“I’m saying!” You pointed to her before taking a sip.

“I think honesty is the best policy,” Daryl declared out loud like he’d just discovered the Atlantic.

At his side, Eugene eyed him up and down as if to say, ‘What the fuck are we talking about?’ You surmised that probably only half the group understood what was going on between Daryl and you, but most got the gist that the two of you were beefing. Again. Carol proceeded to drain her piña colada like her life depended on it, and Abraham and Rick suddenly gained interest in something inside.

Daryl wasn’t backing down. In fact, he raised his voice.

“And if she’s willin’ ta lie once, who knows how many other times she—”

“Be fucking for real,” you rolled your eyes, “I wasn’t faking most other times, and you know it.”

“Most times? So ya did it other times?”

“Folks, I cannot say with utmost certainty that this is a healthy coping mechanism for a relationship like y—”

“Shut up, Eugene.”

You could tell just how incensed Daryl was by the color of his cheeks. In a world that almost never raised the hue above a baby pink, you were alarmed to see him turn a shade or two shy of crimson. You knew something lewd or unkind was likely to flare behind those cobalt eyes any second now.

“How many times for Spencer, then?” Daryl growled.

He knew that shit was off-limits. A happenstance situationship that started and ended long before you’d ever dated Daryl. Now he was just being mean.

“Alright, guys, how about we take a second to cool off?” Michonne was using the same voice she assumed whenever trying to talk Judith or RJ out of a cranky mood. You saw Daryl already had the insolent pout of the children down pat, that was for sure.

“Maybe if you’d asked Leah she would’ve said the same,” you spat.

Daryl abandoned his beer and moved closer to you, just narrowly checked by Sasha’s warning touch and even more persuasive gaze. He paused for a second, crinkled his nose, and seemed to be considering something a moment or two longer before finally deciding to be petty.

“At least I didn’t have to ask Leah to swallow.”

That was it. You reared back and chucked your bright pink strawberry marg directly at Daryl’s head, unleashing a string of unsavory names as you did so. Daryl easily side-stepped, and the next in line to receive the airborne drink was Eugene. Completely defenseless, per usual, and not at all prepared to be hit in the face by a plastic glass filled with syrup, liquor, and slush, the man was a sitting duck.

He shrieked the second it struck him below the eyebrow. His hand clamped over his eye, and he stumbled back a few steps.

“Eugene!” came more than one voice, including your own.

The mulleted man wailed and spun perilously on his heels, trying blindly to make a beeline for the house but ending up walking straight into the pool ahead of him. Your whole party jumped to their feet and scrambled after him.

Apart from the aid of his arm floaties, the man was completely unable to swim—and still blinking fiercely through a sheet of strawberry-flavored ice as he flailed about in the water and cried for help.

Sasha, Rosita, Michonne, and Daryl didn’t hesitate; all four dove head first into the pool to save their friend.

Two hours had passed, and you and Daryl were still in time-out—courtesy of Carol and Michonne.

Deprived of your right to drink, smoke, fight, or fuck (at least not with condoms), you and your boyfriend had been placed in indefinite non-solitary confinement sitting perched outside the hot tub with instructions to make up, or else. So far, no words had passed between the two of you, and it had just started to rain.

Daryl waved to the kitchen window, where Carol was watching you both with narrowed eyes.

“Can we come inside now?” he groaned, motioning to the storm clouds overhead.

Carol gave him one emphatic thumbs down and turned to stir her broth on the stove.

This was your group-imposed “getting along” punishment: stay outside until you make amends. You kicked your feet in the bubbling water and cursed yourself for ever thinking it was a wise idea to stroke a man’s ego and fake an orgasm in the first place.

Then you lowered yourself into the water, seeing as there was not much else to do.

“Ya tryna be human stew? Get out,” Daryl snapped.

“Great, maybe Carol can throw me in her soup and I won’t have to continue this stupid fucking conversation.” You knew the dangers of swimming in a rainstorm, but you didn’t want to give Daryl the satisfaction of knowing you’d stop for his sake. You sank deeper into the hot tub.

Daryl slid across the wet slab of rock and concrete and reached for your shoulder.

“Quit bein’ difficult.”

“Quit being pushy,” you said with an ineffectual splash in his direction. His fingertips still seared hot on your skin as he touched you just above the shoulder blade.

“Oh, was I also bein’ pushy—” Daryl cut himself short.

You looked up, curious. Still refusing to budge.

“Pushy when?”

“When you took your pretty ass outta this tub before you got struck by lightning.”

Daryl received an unamused scowl in return. When you pressed again, he bent down and took you underneath both armpits, hauling you out of the hot tub with infuriating ease.

“Or when I…wanted to have sex and you clearly didn’t.”

Ouch. You jumped back in the water with an even deeper frown.

“I still wanted to have sex, Daryl! I just couldn’t get off as quick as you.”

“So you lied.”

You hastened to the other side of the mini pool when Daryl climbed inside. Your back flattened on the rock, and your eyes shot him a critical look as if to say, ‘I ain’t coming out.’

“Technically, you never asked,” you shrugged.

Daryl scoffed and straightened his own posture on the opposite end of the hot tub, feigning amusement but likely inflamed with irritation inside.

“I touched— I rubbed your pussy to see if you were sensitive. Don’t that mean somethin’?”

“Means you didn’t ask me shit. I never said I came.” You folded your arms across your chest in defiance, but deep down, you knew that a lie by omission was still a lie. Daryl’s facial expression communicated as much as he swam in your direction.

“So you couldn’t…ask me to wait a little longer to help you finish?” Daryl approached you close enough to graze your knees, so you felt obliged to press yourself harder against the wall, “Ya know I’d eat the cum out yer pussy if I knew it’d get ya off, sweetheart.”

Indeed, you knew. You should’ve known better than to accuse him of selfishness or inadequate communication—Daryl was a generous lover, and one who was always willing to wait, whether that meant delaying his climax or putting a pause on sex altogether. You felt an unlikely shiver in the boiling hot water when your boyfriend’s frame slipped between your legs beneath the surface.

“Even if I’d finished first, ya know I’d lick ya clean and make that pretty pussy cum all over my face an’ fingers. Ya do know tha’, right?”

He wanted to hear you say it. His hands had just started to trail a slow course up your legs as you released a shaky breath and nodded your head.

“I know, baby, I just— I just like seeing how riled up and sweaty you get when you fuck me for a quickie. You always seem so…satisfied pulling out I just hate to make you get hard all over again on my account.” Your voice was quieter then, breaking off in the gentlest whimper when Daryl’s knuckles grazed your heat.

Then, with the other hand, he moved your fingers to feel how hard he was under his swim trunks.

“Thought ya knew me better’n tha’,” he tsked you softly as he rubbed your hand up and down the length of his clothed erection, “I’m always hard fer ya, honey.”

You swallowed and sighed the second you felt him throb in your hand underwater. You wanted him now.

When your fingers fumbled for the drawstring of his shorts, however, Daryl nudged your touch away. Brought his own to the bottom of the bright green bikini you were wearing and slipped a digit underneath the fabric.

“This poor little clit,” he lamented, circling just lightly enough to draw breathy mewls from your mouth.

You spread your legs even wider to allow him access. When he pulled you to his chest, you felt his heart thrumming as fast as yours was. The light drizzle of rain overhead was growing heavier by the second.

This was not the makeup session Carol or Michonne had envisioned when they’d sent the two of you off to talk. You and Daryl just happened to make amends a little differently than most—semi-publicly, sometimes.

“Can’t imagine how bad it’s been achin’ since I last fucked that pretty little hole,” Daryl continued, index and middle finger now rubbing lazy circles over the spot where he’d pried your bikini to the side.

You sat, spread eagle with your mouth ajar and your eyes on his. Oh, how he loved you like this: partly supine and looking so pathetic. His fingers worked even faster.

“Been needin’ daddy’s touch, has it?” he teased before moving his digits to your slick entrance. Then, pressing just a finger inside and feeling your walls instinctively contract, “Now tha’s a believable squeeze.”

He smiled and you realized he knew a real clench from a fake one by now. That dramatized show you’d put on for him earlier almost made you feel ashamed now, gathering just how good a proper fingerfucking felt when you actually gave your boyfriend the chance to try.

He pushed another finger inside and curled them both with expert precision. You let out a helpless moan the second he grazed your g-spot.

“Baby, I need it,” you whimpered, “I need to cum so, so badly.”

Daryl nodded as though feeling your pleasure—and pain. He worked a vicious rhythm against your cunt and let a smile spread across his lips the longer he watched you writhe and moan amidst the hot, churning waters. When your stomach started to flutter and your entrance gave a warning pulse, you didn’t even need to inform him of your impending climax; you closed your eyes and prepared for the sweet bliss in expectant silence.

That was, until, Daryl retracted his fingers and climbed out of the hot tub.

Sorely misled ecstasy withered before your eyes.

You whined. Louder than you meant to.

“Daryl!”

Your boyfriend had taken up a spot standing at the side of the hot tub, pretending to be so overcome with heat exhaustion that he just couldn’t stay in a second longer.

He wiped his brow and watched you smugly.

“You say sumn’, sugar?” he asked as he sat down on the water’s edge to plant a kiss at the top of your head.

“You’re sick,” you muttered, dodging any additional condescending smooches by scooting over. When Daryl slowly leaned down toward the water, you scowled.

Then he patted the wet slab of concrete beside him.

“Jus’ want you to cum on my tongue. C’mon.” He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world—clearly he couldn’t eat you out underwater, so he was just being kind to give you a place to sit while he tonguefucked you silly.

You pretended not to notice the smirk twisting at the corners of his lips as you climbed out of the hot tub and reluctantly followed his motions.

Your legs spread just a little, now perched at the edge of the sauna while Daryl sank back in the water and positioned his head perfectly with your core. A sidelong glance to the nearest window showed that Carol had disappeared from the kitchen, but you knew you would have to make this quick.

Without ceremony, you yanked a tuft of Daryl’s wet hair and guided his face even closer to your heat. Far past the point of pleasantries, you pulled your bathing suit to the side and presented yourself, bare as ever, to Daryl’s eager tongue and lips.

Your boyfriend supplied you with both in an instant, dragging his tongue up the whole length of your slit with a groan. Wanting to savor the taste, were it not for your quiet pleas for him to finish this, please, Carol could be back any minute.

Daryl lapped between your folds, happy as ever, and left a series of suctioned kisses on the spots where he knew you needed him most. Gripped your thighs in either hand, pulled your bottoms so far he almost snapped the fabric in half, and practically devoured that needy cunt.

The man was a pussy-eating prodigy, to put it mildly. He dove deep between your thighs like oxygen was the furthest thing from his mind and sucked on your clit as if it were a lifeline. Your back arched out of instinct, legs clamping on either side of his head and chest rising and falling in stuttered breaths. You moaned and felt Daryl’s own grunts join the reverberations shaking your body; for a second, you thought you were almost seeing stars.

When Daryl inserted two fingers and swirled his tongue around that sensitive nub, you were certain that moment was soon to come.

“Mmm, just like that, baby, fuck,” you breathed, rutting your hips ever slightly against his face. Daryl, soaked with your arousal and waves of scalding water, just held his place and kept licking over, and over, and over.

Your grip fastened harsher in his hair the second a pleasant coil pulled tight along your tummy. You planted your calves on either side of Daryl’s neck, braced your body to the concrete, and felt a heady bliss make its second appearance of the night.

A quiet slurp marked the sudden disconnect between Daryl’s mouth and your aching core. You almost fell off the edge of the hot tub as your mind and body both stopped devastatingly short of full climax. This time, you almost shrieked.

“DARYL!”

“Got a tongue cramp. Sorry.”

Too bad he was grinning from ear-to-ear with no trace of a muscle spasm anywhere on his face. You splashed him with a massive wave and went scrambling to your feet.

“Fuck this. I’ve got a vibrator at home.” You were already pulling your panties back in place, muttering some less-than kind words under your breath, and kicking yourself twice for ever believing Daryl was mature enough to treat this as anything other than a game.

“Hey! Baby, wait!” Daryl called after you. Then he was getting up and getting out too.

“You blame me for fucking around, and you— you go and pull some shit like this?!”

You waved a silent, dismissive hand when Daryl started after you, trailing hot on your heels with a look that almost would’ve seemed apologetic had he not been fighting a laugh the entire time.

When his hands landed on your shoulders from behind, you moved to shrug him off and told him, with a finger supplanting your words, to get fucked. You groaned internally when Daryl pulled you in for a tight embrace.

“It’s called edging, sweetheart,” he hummed in your ear.

“It’s called being an asshole and shutting my orgasms down on purpose.” You wriggled to free yourself from his arms but found the man behind you unwilling to cooperate; in fact, the more you struggled, the more snug his grasp got. You battled against his far superior strength no longer than a minute or two before Daryl plucked you right off your feet and into a bridal hold.

“What do we say when we really wanna cum?” he asked, almost patronizing. Then, as if to put a finer point on it, he ambled toward the edge of the pool and swayed your soft, soaking frame over it.

“You’re fucking crazy!” you hissed, still wrestling against his chest.

You sensed that might not have been the wisest choice of words given your current predicament, but Daryl didn’t seem fazed in the slightest.

“Did I hear a ‘please’ in there?” he asked, rocking you back and forth over the water’s edge.

“Please put me down.” Your voice was low and importunate, eyes warning him just the same.

“O-kay.”

And down you went. Into the pool. Your boyfriend still cradling you in his arms while you thrashed and splashed and called him every profane name in the book.

You’d just swept the wet mass of hair from your forehead when Daryl pinned you to the wall. Your back was flush to his chest, and his breath was hot on your ear.

“Promise y’ain’t gonna fake it this time?” Daryl murmured through gritted teeth, one hand yanking your swimsuit bottoms to the side and the other pulling his own down his hips.

You gripped the side of the pool and cast a quick look to the kitchen. Carol was nowhere in sight, but who knew how much longer she—and everyone else—would be gone? You bit your lip when Daryl dragged the head of his cock between your legs.

“We can’t do this, Dar—”

“I said, are you gonna fake it? Pretty simple question.”

Your folds had already parted with his length in between them, hole pleading for his entry when all he had done was rut his hips in place and tease your slit. You pressed your ass right into him and tried hard not to whine as you sensed your cover could be blown at any moment. Daryl nipped at the skin behind your ear and repeated his question, this time enveloping your frame with his when he bent you over the side of the pool.

Your eyes flickered to the warm glow of the kitchen, and you felt the rain come down even harder—your vision, with the distance and the downpour, was almost totally obscured.

Fuck it.

“Promise I won’t— I swear.” Your voice now scarcely above a whisper.

That seemed to satisfy Daryl well enough. No more than a second later, he was plowing inside you, gripping your hip for support and your hand in his own for what seemed to be encouragement of sorts. You squeezed his fingers back as soon as the first influx of pleasure rolled through you.

“Quiet, quiet for me, baby,” Daryl warned close to your ear, gaze scanning the house for any new onlookers, “Jus’ stay. fuckin’. quiet.”

He wasted no time railing you from behind—an impressive feat for a man standing halfway underwater—and simultaneously kept a lookout for your friends inside. Before him, you’d folded like a lawn chair over the wet concrete, yielding to each thrust like you were born for this position and made to take his cock. Then your walls clenched around him, whimpers came loud and fast, and the rain beat a shrill cadence all around.

Daryl dropped a hand to your clit and smiled the second you whined and almost bucked him off. Finally, that sweet sensitivity was back.

He knew from two false starts and more hard edging than you ever would have liked to endure, you wouldn’t last long. You felt a pressure on your neck bringing you up to his chest and those same, ardent lips almost charring your skin when they pressed above your ear:

“Who’s a good girl?”

Another sharp thrust in your cunt.

“I am,” you cried, clawing at his wrist the second his fingers started tightening around your throat. Almost unable to bear it, but loving it all the same.

“Gonna be honest with daddy ‘bout those orgasms?” Daryl chided, “Make a mess of daddy’s cock like yer s’posed’a?”

You nodded as best you could with your throat trapped in his hold and your lips damn near turning blue the second he got to kissing them. Your back arched into his chest, and your body convulsed with pleasure the deeper he went. Daryl loved the way you watched him as he did.

That was what he’d missed. That was what he knew you couldn’t muster in your piss-poor performances of late, what had tipped him off to the truth of your euphoric state with times like today. This was what he needed to see every time he fucked you from now on—if he had to spend a lifetime or two trying to get you there, so be it.

Daryl caught your lips in a long, heated kiss before bottoming out inside you. The sharp nudge to your insides and the brush against your most delicate spot was more than enough to push you over the edge.

Bliss broke through your body like a bat out of hell, and your moans rang loud in Daryl’s mouth as he fucked you through it. And, sadistic motherfucker that he was, he actually smiled when your teeth sank through his lip and drew blood from the surface.

All he cared was that you came, no bullshit this time.

As a metallic tang and an ecstatic trance washed over you, your body went limp in Daryl’s arms. He pulled out, still hard, and rubbed a hand over your ass underwater.

You could feel him beaming with pride right behind you.

But, just when he moved to turn you around, a sight in the bushes sent your heart in your throat. One dark patch of foliage shook with unusual force a few yards away, and you heard some sticks break as someone, shielded by leaves, appeared to lose their balance.

Daryl’s grip on you locked, then tightened, then dropped altogether when a clumsy form came tumbling out.

“EUGENE!”

Y/N: would you love me if I was a worm

Daryl: why would i love a worm

. . .

Y/N: (hours later) *sighs loudly*

Rick: what's wrong y/n

Y/N: daryl said he doesn't love me

Daryl: AS A FUCKING WORM