#norman reedus x female reader
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Merciless Beauty
Chapter 11: You Are My Queen
❧ Pairing: Knight Daryl Dixon x Princess Reader
❧ Era: Medieval fantasy AU
❧ Pronouns: she/her
❧ Warnings: SMUT (18+ MDNI)—missionary, unprotected PiV (do not endorse, wrap it up), "fucked dumb" (more like "fucked tired") if you squint, food stuff (... idk it gets messy. Honey is involved.)
❧ Word Count: 10.2k
❧ Before You Read...
❧ Glossary
❧ In This Chapter: After the defeat of Negan and his Saviors, you are confronted with the pain of what you've experienced, and you must confide in Daryl. Of course, the bittersweet moment becomes a reunion fit for lovers.
❧ A/N: Um so hi! You guys didn't think I was never gonna finish this did you? I mean I wouldn't blame you if you did, but I did it! I mean, I tried. I had a few different ideas for how to end the series, and then I realized that this isn't quite the end. I am going to write an "Epilogue" chapter that will just be wrapping up everything with Ezekiel and basically the princess telling her dad about Daryl. But for now, this is the end! Now I gotta focus on Begin Again now that I finally have this done(ish). Hope you guys like it, and thank you for waiting <3
Far from the carnage and warfare, miles away in a secluded wood, the hearth burned brightly, illuminating the small cottage in a warm glow that seemed so distinct from the deep, dark night that surrounded outside.
The scarlet wound on his thigh bubbling with vinegar and wine, you held a wooden spoonful of warmed honey, letting it drip slowly over the clean injury. After the bath you’d given him, he wore nothing, save for the loose drawstring braies of linen that reached just above his knee.
Your delicate fingers spread the translucent liquid gold over the surrounding skin. Out of the corner of your eye, you kept note of his visage. Though his face was relaxed, and softened by the warm glow of the fire, he was stoic. No matter how you treated his wound, he did not flinch, or so much as show any signs of discomfort or pain.
As you wrapped his leg with a clean gauze, you spoke to him, cutting through the silence that had settled between you for the last several minutes.
“Does it not hurt?” you asked softly, barely above a whisper.
“No,” he replied simply, though that was not entirely true. The blade had been the worst hurt of it, but now, it was only a dull sting. Perhaps so much pain in his life had heightened his tolerance, or dulled his sense.
In fact, the sensation was pleasant. All he could really feel was the soft pads of your fingers gently spreading the liquid over his skin, the honey acting as a soothing agent after the cleansing properties of the wine and vinegar had settled into the open wound.
Wrapping the last bit of gauze around his thigh, you gently folded the linen of his braises back over, a soft puff of air escaping your lips all the while.
“You are brave,” you said, your eyes lifting with a gentle flutter of your lashes.
With a shift of your legs from underneath you, you carefully replaced the spoon of honey into its jar, setting it aside upon the floor next to you. It felt good to no longer be upon your feet, now bandaged and clean after Daryl had so adamantly insisted that you let him do so. Now, though, you’d tend to him, after everything he’d done for you that night.
But with the fortitude of a true knight, he did not show pain nor pride. He did not bask in any glory or relish in his victory. He did not shed a tear, his limp as he walked not slowing him down or keeping him from getting you to the safety of the cottage. Not only was he brave, but he was humble. The man you’d once called a sorry excuse for a knight had turned out to be a paragon of gallantry, though he never had to prove that to you. You’d known the error of your words since he returned to you that night so many moons ago, promising to take you beyond the walls without payment or worldly reward.
That seemed worlds away now. The way you’d looked at him then was a far cry from now, when before you was the embodiment of the greatest warmth and sweetness you’d ever felt. The swell in your chest had cut your breath short for a moment, while the knight shifted on the floor cushion upon which he sat, leaning forward to pull you closer by your hands, until you were cradled in his arms, your body curled up upon his lap and your head resting against his bare chest.
That was when your breath came back, the soothing motions of his hands caressing your sides reminding you of the safety he gave you now. Negan was no more, the Saviors were no more, and soon, your father and the surviving militia would meet you here, but now, there was nothing in this world except him, and you.
When time just began to crumble away, your eyes heavy with the promise of sleep, you were brought back to the surface of consciousness by his voice, steady and low.
“You are brave.”
A puff of amused air escaped your lips, though you did not contradict him, only listened as he spoke, that voice of his more soothing than the honey on his wound.
“You killed Negan.”
Though you could not regret your actions, you shivered at the thought of that moment, the knife driving into his back, the feeling of the blade tunneling through tissue and finally puncturing his frozen heart. It made you cling tighter to his chest, as if to cower from the memory that haunted you in the back of your mind.
“If you hadn’t, I would not be here now, holding you.”
Indeed, that was what he was made for―holding you, serving you. Just as you clung tighter to him, he held you with more strength, not out of fear that you’d be taken from him again, but out of sheer devotion.
“And I owe you my life.”
“No,” you replied, almost startling him as you lifted your head. As if by instinct, he held your chin softly, the calloused pad of his thumb stroking its soft skin in short, but slow, back and forth motions. “There is nothing that you owe to me. Certainly not your life.”
Though you remained stern in your expression of earnestness, his lips curled into a gentle smile.
“I owe you everything. My life’s devoted to serving you, you know that.”
But as you looked at him, his eyes so full of love and hope for the future he had with you, there was still a hesitation inside you. It was like a parasite, worming its way inside your heart to keep you from fully embracing the comfort he brought you. It had not held such an effect on you, until now. Now that you could comprehend it, the hideous guilt that troubled you so.
He could see it in your eyes now, too, as evidenced by his smile fading and his eyes, still filled with that same love, growing dim with concern.
“What is it?”
To keep it from him would only cause more abject pain, but to hurt him, to tell him of the betrayal that you believed you had committed against him. How could you go on, now that the thought of that man’s cold, slimy hands all over you would not let you rest in the arms of the man who truly loved you?
And if you told him, would he rebuff you, disavow his love for you and never even hold you again?
“Nothing,” you said, but the quiver in your slowly faltering voice betrayed you, and the feeling of a cold, dead hand strangled around your heart made you shiver. He brought you closer to his chest, where warmth briefly tore you from the icy snare of guilt and shame. It was only a temporary respite, though. The only way to rid yourself of this regret was to tell him.
Another man’s mouth had been on yours, the salty, bitter taste of which you swore still lingered and made a mockery of your once pure lips. You’d truly never felt that Daryl had ever taken any purity from you. In fact, he made you more pure, but the bitterness of Negan’s filthy tongue had sullied you, you believed, and now you were nothing more than a broken woman, despite how whole you felt when he held you in his arms.
“Tell me,” he said, with that eerie whisper of knowing on his breath. Even the soothing circular movements of his splayed out hand on the small of your back were made with careful concern. Indeed, he knew that whatever troubled you must have been to do with what had transpired within the last week.
Afterall, the blot of watercolor black and blue around your eye gave him an inkling, one which made anger well up in him like molten lava bubbling to the surface, igniting him with a kind of rage that was strong enough to bring that scum of a man back to life just to slice his head clean off a second time. And, oh, would he do it again if he had the chance, just to know, again and again and again, that the man who tormented his princess could never bring more harm to her, or anyone else.
“Daryl, I…”
Your words having fizzled out into thin air, you shook your head and loosened yourself from his arms, as though you were unworthy of their embrace. The more you thought of that night, the more you believed that to be true.
“What happened?” he asked, his body beginning to stiffen as he mirrored you—both of you frozen in fear of whatever you would say, if you would say anything at all.
For a moment, he felt both weightless and heavy, in some kind of strange limbo wherein worry overtook his physicality before any words could confirm the worst of his fears. It washed the color from his face, where once a warm pink had blossomed from the feeling of the nearby hearth and your body so close to his, once again, after everything that had happened.
Now, he could only begin to think of the heinous things that could’ve been done to you… Knowing how Negan had looked at you, how he touched you that night of the joust. There was something sinister in his eyes then, and now, there was a similar dread in your expression as you looked away from him, eyelids heavy and head downturned.
With a gentle hand on your shoulder, his instinct to hold you too strong to completely ignore without at least a single touch, he began to speak again—voice quiet yet raspy.
“Did he… did he touch you?”
Of course, he had, but what Daryl meant by his words seemed deeper than their surface level definition. The vitriol in his voice, the sting of the word touch, which once might have been so much more beautiful on his lips, was palpable, lacerating your heart further. If it wasn’t for the pain of the guilt, you would still feel the hurt of the sadness in his voice.
You raised your eyes to meet his, though his face was blurred in the haze of your tears. A kind of shocked concern shaped his expression as he held your cheek with so much delicateness, as though you were but an assemblage of rose petals sewn together with gossamer twine.
He spoke your name now, low and almost a whisper. There was something so earnest about that, the way he called you only by your name and nothing else. No title, no epithet. Just you, just a woman, but not just a woman at all—a woman for whom he’d give the skin off his back to keep warm.
With his fingers laced delicately through your hair, he begged you with his eyes, glassy and clear, almost translucent to the point you swore you could see his soul bared before you. Even just in his stare, he made himself vulnerable to you, and soon, whatever fear you had of him turning on you melted under that comforting, warm gaze. Just for a moment, you gave in, and used your tongue to forcibly tear out the words that were stuck in your throat.
But still, you could not look at him as you spoke.
“Yes, he…” Your voice trailed off, followed by a deep breath of air you’d hoped would give you the strength to continue, but it only brought forth the tears that threatened to give way.
Two big arms encircled you hesitantly, slowly enough to allow you to break free had you not craved his touch, but his touch was all that could give you peace now. No further questions were needed, he surmised. He wasn’t sure he could even bear to know more of what was done to you, so he kept you in his grasp, which you did not fight.
With a shaky voice, he spoke against your cheek as he held onto you. Your head found a cradle in his shoulder, where tears wetted his bare skin. On his breath was a gentle shhh sound, like a light breeze rustling the leaves of an ancient oak in cool night air. It comforted you, along with the steady motion of his hands on your back, moving in slow, languid circles.
But no longer could you only contain your emotions to your sobs. Now, you raised your head and faced him, looking him sharply in the eye despite the pain that singed your heart with each syllable:
“I had a plan,” you began. “I… I only wanted to get close to him. He called me to his chambers… I had a knife. I let him touch me…” Once again, you could no longer hold his gaze. You continued on, now tripping over your own words as you scrambled to explain, through a tear-soaked voice that trembled in fear of whatever reaction you’d receive. “Only just with his lips… His filthy lips. Then as soon as I could, I tried to stab him. I swear, all I wanted was to get close to him, long enough to kill him.”
The knight only looked at you with a steady gaze, one that only softened with each passing moment. You felt his arms tighten around you, and you weren’t sure if it was an attempt to comfort you, or to suffocate you. Either way, you would’ve died a thousand times to feel that touch.
But you longed most of all, now, to know exactly what he was thinking. To hear those words you knew must’ve been brewing inside that head of his—those words that would crush you under the weight of their rebuke. Though those words never came, no shame or disappointment, only another kind of pain in his eyes. A pain that was born of your sadness as each tear you shed sent a new wave of agony through his aching body.
Shakily, you whispered to him, pleading in all but words for him to tell you how much he hated you for betraying him, for letting another man touch you. “My love… Won’t you end my suffering and speak to me?”
At times, Daryl’s movements carried more meaning that any service his vocal cords could provide. All he could do in that moment was hold you by your cheeks, his thumbs meandering in circles to gently rub the tears into your skin.
And, finally, he did speak, but his words caught you off guard far more than you thought possible.
“What are you afraid of, princess?”
Afraid of?
“I… I do not understand.”
“The look in your eyes, the fear. You look afraid of me. Why?”
You swallowed back the lump in your throat as you shook your head, both in denial and in confusion. “I do not fear you.”
Quite the contrary, you wanted nothing more for him to hold you until your heart gave out.
“I—I fear that you will detest me,” you continued, now trying desperately to let your tears drown out your words. “I fear I’ve betrayed you.”
In your mind, you had, and Daryl would have had every right to leave you now: alone and pitiful. Though he didn’t. He only kept his eyes on yours, and though you had a shameful urge to look away, you could not tear your gaze from his. There was no spite in his eyes, no bitterness or loathing. Not even anger.
All you could see in his eyes was the same gentleness, the same kindness and utter servitude that he devoted to you with each passing moment his eyes took you in. That sentiment had always been there, nothing had changed, no matter what you could say. It would never change. There was no enmity there, only the strength of his love for you.
His hands held your cheeks still, pulling you gently closer until his forehead softly touched yours. The feeling made you shudder, as though still you could never fully comprehend the sensation his touch gave to you. You were sure that you would never get quite used to that feeling, though you never wanted to. That sense of novelty was a pleasant sensation all on its own.
“My princess,” he said, his grainy voice barely above a whisper as his nose touched yours. His lips began to upturn ever so slightly into the softest smile, natural and sweet. “There’s nothin’ you could do to make me think that.”
As you shuddered a shaky breath, he held you closer still. You let out a heavy sigh, one that felt like it had been lingering deep inside you ever since you escaped the Sanctuary.
“You’re trembling,” he said, running his coarse fingertips along the exposed skin of your neck, until his hand met the loose neckline of his chemise that you borrowed, draped over you more like a dress than a shirt as the oversized garment reached just below your thighs. He leaned back to look at you, still sniffling back tears. With a strong hand, he swept back your hair to nestle it in the warm crevice behind your ear.
“You cold?” he asked, already beginning to tug a blanket from under a nearby cushion. “Here—”
“No.” Your suddenness nearly startled him. It reminded you just how fragile he was, no matter how reluctant he was to show it. “I’m all right.”
Daryl knew, though, that you still could not shake the guilt, like a vulture’s ravenous gnawing at your heart. He knew you too well, so well that it almost frightened him. There was no one else with whom he could see through, whose transparency reflected a deep, intrinsic understanding beyond conscious comprehension. The depths of you were overwhelming, but he could never fight the profound urge to navigate them, despite the sadness that his love’s empathy could bring.
With a deep breath of his own, he brought you back to his lap. The ease with which he could manipulate your body with the most gentle yet sudden caress would never fail to momentarily paralyze you. You melted into his arms once again. It was only a matter of time before you became completely at his mercy, though there was absolutely no part of you that protested, except maybe that last shred of guilt.
“You know I love you,” he said. “You know I serve you.” You must have broken out into a smile, because he, too, smiled. “And you know that you’re here now. You’re alive. Whatever you did to get here, whatever I did to get here… They’re sacrifices—risks.”
You found your hands returning to his body, their place on his broad, firm shoulders solidified like indentations in concrete. Swallowing hard, you felt a chill run through you, but it was not from the fear of losing him now—it was the effect of his touch, his hands having found their way beneath the shirt he lent you, sprawled out over your back, stroking in gentle rhythms.
“Daryl.” Your voice seemed to crumble under the pressure of the air that you spoke shakily into, the utterance of his name so delicate upon your trembling lips. “What I did, it haunts me. Perhaps you can forgive me, but how will I forgive myself, when I let that man—”
He did not let you utter another word before he interrupted, his own voice soft with sympathy. How he could remain so patient with you in this state, you would never know.
“I know your heart, I know you.” Now he all but forced your weary head to rest upon his chest, where the gentle beating of his heart warmed your cheek. “The only anger I have is for the man who touched you, not you.”
But still, it was hard for you to forget. The only cure to that ailment seemed to be Daryl’s touch, his assurance that he loved you beyond what words could convey. You needed his touch, but not just skin to skin. There was more, a lingering desire that floated between you perpetually, yet was stronger now than ever before.
It was a desire that penetrates, that longs to be penetrated. The kind that only lovers of the truest caliber could satisfy in the company of one another, the company which you had been deprived of for far too long.
The pestilence Sir Negan left for you to wallow in would only be destroyed by the greatest expression of love—that which made all pain and sorrow and suffering pale in comparison to the feeling of knowing that your heart was in the safe hands of no one else but him, your lover.
Your knight.
When silence overcame you, he uttered your name softly against one cheek, while his hand delicately brushed over the other. If he touched you anywhere else, you might crumble into a million pieces, like an ancient Grecian statue carved from the most fragile marble.
Only the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth could be heard against your soft breaths caressing the shell of his ear, while your hands crept carefully up his chest, brushing over the creases of his underarms to grasp at his shoulders. They felt so hard, so firm and unbreakable. You held them tighter now, and in response, he tightened his arms around your waist to bring you ever closer, until your lips found his.
The kiss was tender, light, each of your lips dancing softly over the other’s. With a tilt of his head and a brief respite, he caught your lips again, this time more firmly, yet still somehow cautious.
Perhaps he’d never grow completely forthcoming in his lust for you, which seemed almost sacrilegious, yet somehow sacred. He knew that he’d be killed for this, but how on God’s green earth was he going to keep his hands off you? How could any star up above in those vast, empyreal heavens compare to the gleam in your eyes when he uttered your name, each syllable dripping with honeyed cadence? How could the rich, melodic refrain of any skilled bard’s lute come close to the dulcet sighs that tickled his ears so delectably, almost tauntingly? How could there be anything more soft, more supple, than your body—that which occupied his thoughts far more often than he could ever truly admit?
Even your scent roused his most lustful thoughts, that sweet citrusy musk entangled with heady notes of the most intoxicating rose, the petals of which could not compare to the plump, velvety lips he traced his work-worn thumb over now, parting them gently until a sliver of darkness formed, with just a flash of white where your teeth could be seen.
Finally, those lips opened just a bit more to speak again. “I want to forget that night,” you said. “I want to forget everything that’s happened… besides you.”
Truly, nothing was of consequence to you now, but him. You wanted to be enveloped in him. To be absorbed in him. To be one with him.
If he hadn’t been so lost in the vibrant hue of your glittering eyes, speckled with sparks alight from the nearby hearth, he might’ve noticed the feeling of your hands exploring his bare chest, your palms melting against the buttery surface of those defined muscles. When the sparkle in your eye lost his attention, he did feel it—that soft touch with just a hint of something more… indecent.
With a slow, meandering movement, never taking those silvery blue eyes from yours, he took both of your hands in his, where they rested so delicately in the strong cradle of his warm palms. He brought them to his lips, the touch of which was so featherlight that you could barely even hear the sound of them pressing an ever so sweetly suggestive kiss to your hands.
It was then that the chemise you wore slid slowly off your shoulder, its size much too big for your frame. With even just your collarbone and the slope of your neck now exposed, much to the delight of his increasingly wandering eyes, he knew there was no escape from the desperation you awakened in him. Only it was not just desperation, but the insatiable urge to provide for you the comfort you so needed. It was written clear as day in your eyes.
Even so, you could not let the heavy air between you go without another plea, though it seemed to him almost like a command—from a princess to a knight.
“Make me forget.”
And so he obliged, not with another kiss, but with a tight grip on your waist, lifting you until you sat upon his lap, where the heat of his center warmed the bare underside of your thighs. After he took a moment to gather his thoughts in the midst of his sudden haste, he did not keep you in that position for long. The feeling of your weight upon his lap was too divine, nearly too much. If he took you now with too much urgency, that which was so strong he could hardly hide it, he might reach the peak of his pleasure much too soon.
So you were caught in a slight whirlwind for just a moment, in one last burst of quickness punctuated by a low, raspy rumble in his voice. Now you were laid out rather ungracefully, resting on piles of weaved woolen blankets and furs strewn loosely upon the floor.
There was not as much hesitation now, having already seen your body in its most bare form. He lifted the chemise over your head with ease, and when the fabric no longer obscured your vision, you met his face—a gentle, almost unnoticeable curl of his lip.
Above you, his eyes took their time roaming your chest, but not just your breasts. There was a delicateness to you everywhere—the slope of your collarbones, the way your shoulders rolled as you started to grow aroused, the pulsing of the strained tendons in your neck.
But before he could bring his lips to kiss your neck as he so deliberately planned on doing, he noticed the now tipped over jar of amber-colored honey slowly dripping from the lip of the vessel onto the floor, not far from where your hair had been strewn about amidst the sudden movements of passion. Those same movements must’ve caused the nearby jar to lose its balance.
Now brought to his attention, the silken honey seemed to shimmer with a warm, enticing glow. His heavy, blown-out eyes returned to your body, now with a sparkle of mischief, perhaps. You weren’t entirely sure, as you’d rarely seen such a quality in his gaze before.
In a trance of combined anticipation and confusion as the man held his half-naked body over yours, you looked up at him with innocent questioning.
“My knight?” you asked quietly, your voice only a faint, fragile whisper, delicate as a butterfly’s wing. “You seem confounded.” A soft tickle of laughter trailed off from your voice. “Does something trouble you? You moved with such vigor only a moment ago.”
He was unsure of how to explain in words the idea that came to him then, though you seemed to have grown accustomed to his sometimes reticent nature. That would prove to work in his favor now, as he all but remained silent in response to your questioning, opting instead only to scoop a bit of honey onto his index and middle fingers, slowly removing them from the jar with a hefty glob of the sticky substance.
You turned your head to watch in confusion, which quickly became concern.
“Does your wound need more honey? Does it hurt?”
“No,” he replied simply, with a more serious tone of lust to his deep, gravelly voice, the vibrations of which sent a fresh shiver down your spine.
For several moments, you were held hostage by his gaze, which roamed down the expanse of your neck. Your heavy breathing told him what he needed to know—the way your chest heaved with each passing second. You craved him, more than ever before, perhaps. With each new breath, he swore he could hear a slight pleaing whimper just trailing behind.
Without another moment’s hesitation, he brought his honey-drenched fingers to your lips, already slightly agape.
But he did not want to force the liquid into your mouth, only to coat your lips in its sweetness.
So he traced the shape of your lips, leaving behind a trail of gold sheen to glaze the soft, plump skin. Despite your slight disorientation, you allowed him to do as he pleased. After all, there was no other way to forget the pain of all that you’d experienced. No other way to be completely enveloped in the pleasure of love.
Soon you could taste the honey seeping into your mouth, dripping slowly onto your tongue. It tasted sweet, of course, but as his lips gently pressed to yours, the taste seemed even sweeter.
Between your lips was a sticky mess of warm sighs and saccharine wetness, with his tongue invading your mouth impatiently, swirling feverishly as your hands reached up to grasp at his shoulders.
Your touch ignited a fire in him, deep in the pit of his stomach, from which a guttural moan melted into your mouth.
And he knew there was more of your body that he needed, more skin he could drench in the warm nectar of the honey, more skin he could lick clean.
A fragile sigh escaped your trembling lips as he separated himself from you abruptly, though the disappointment in your voice compelled him to return to your honeyed lips for just a moment to kiss them in an offer of apology for his momentary departure.
He separated once more, leaning to the side to find the jar of honey, and immediately collecting another hefty, dripping glob of golden syrup.
There was a shaky whimper in your voice when he trailed his honey-drenched fingers over your breast, circling slowly around the nipple.
The more he applied to the soft tissue of your nipple, the more the substance globbed and began to drip slowly, like molasses, down the slope of your breast, making your back arch at the tickling sensation.
The knight could only watch your breast become drenched in translucent golden liquid, the subtle scent tempting him to come closer, until you could feel his warm breath against your heaving chest.
An absent-minded sigh escaped your quivering lips, with his name: “Daryl…”
Just as he heard it, his own name spoken on the wings of a swan’s breath, his flattened tongue caught a plump drip of gold slowly making its way down your breast.
He licked upwards then, reaching the hardened bud of your nipple, where his tongue circled eagerly now, yet with a slowness just enough to delay your pleasure, to properly torment you with his toying attention.
But his own temptation prompted him to take the whole sweetened nipple into his mouth, which craved above all else to taste every inch of you—the delicate, virtuous princess writhing naked underneath him as he made use of your body to the fullest extent of his desire.
With his mouth upon your aroused nipple, he suctioned his lips, now himself becoming too impatient to merely kiss the engorged flesh.
The feeling sent your head reeling backwards against the pillow, with a low, breathy moan. Each kiss made you cry out louder, more impatiently as your body craved more of his kisses.
But what he wanted was more honey.
So he took the jar again, this time tilting it so that the golden liquid began to drizzle in zigzag patterns over your chest, then your stomach.
Now you felt drenched in honey, sticky with it. Not to the point of discomfort, but amusement at his fascination with it, his tongue now licking up the trail.
You let out a quiet laugh, your voice low and sultry as you began to speak. “You’re making a mess of me.”
He did not stop lapping up at the drizzled honey, except to look up at you with a subtle mischief gleaming in his eyes of quicksilver blue for a few moments, long enough to say, “A very sweet mess.”
Soon his lips returned to yours, while his chest pressed against yours in a sticky embrace. You couldn’t help but laugh softly against my mouth, while your hands reached up to loosely tangle in the soft umber colored tresses upon his head.
And it felt like heaven to him then—your softness underneath him, your own sweet taste overpowering the saccharine honey, the tickle of your laugh fluttering against his lips, the slight scratch of your fingernails upon his scalp, the intoxicating warmth between your legs opening up to take him in as your legs wrapped around his waist.
That eagerness of yours made him snicker. Unable to resist the urge to chide you a bit, he pulled his lips away for a moment.
“Your highness seems restless,” he said, nodding his nose against yours with a small but wicked smile curling to one side of his face. “I thought princesses were supposed to be patient and proper.”
With a tilt of your head, you glared up at him, only with a very slight sense of playful annoyance.
“You know nothing of patience or propriety, depraved knight. It is you who so wantonly tempts my resolve… Who compels me to crave your devilish touch, which causes my weary mind such carnal turmoil.”
The knight’s quiet laugh seeped out from the charmingly crooked crack in his lips. With a low hum, somewhere between amusement and lust, he leaned down to kiss his increasingly restless princess once more.
When the kiss broke, he brushed the back of his hand against your heated cheek in soothing motions as he spoke softly against your slightly pouty agape lips.
“Those are big words,” he said, with a low rumble of laughter underscoring his scratchy voice. “They sure sound pretty on your lips.”
As your hands absentmindedly roamed the broad expanse of his heaving chest, the muscles underneath the hair-speckled flesh flexing under your soft touch, you met his gaze from above you with a mischievous glimmer in your eye.
“My love,” you hummed softly, your eyelashes fluttering slowly against his cheek as his mouth roamed aimlessly over yours. “You torment me with your caresses… Your sweet touch.”
“You said it was devilish,” he replied between kisses, using your dramatized words against you.
“It is,” you laughed softly. “Devilish and sweet. But it’s your touch. I wish to feel it every moment of every day and every night for all eternity, and the eternity after that, and before that, and every eternity in between.”
Daryl’s hand lifted to the side of your face, gently placing a strand of unruly hair behind your ear, to continue his increasingly feverish onslaught of kisses on your other cheek.
“Yes, your highness,” he replied, much to your amusement. “Whatever you want, it’s yours.”
“Mm, you’re mine.”
After a momentary pause, he seemed to turn more serious—almost frightening—as he grabbed you with more impatient vigor, your arms having no choice but to cling around his neck. With your face surrounded by soft tresses of brown hair, you let out an instinctive cry, as though he was a predator and you were prey, about to be devoured. Though there was nothing in your biology that compelled you to fight him off. You’d accepted your fate, and you welcomed it.
Your weight was suddenly cradled by the softness of the bed beneath you, though your legs were still wrapped tightly around Daryl’s waist. That did not keep him restrained for long, for he soon unraveled himself from your entanglement and began to strip himself of his worn linen braies.
There was hardly any time to marvel at his anatomy—he soon climbed back over you, catching your breath with his mouth once again. You could at least feel his now unhindered length, though. You could feel it harden between your legs, where the warmth of your soft thighs made his cock begin to twitch from the pressure.
As though your body wasn’t close enough for his liking, he looped his arm under the arch of your back, lifting you up just enough to feel your belly pressed against his. If he concentrated enough, he swore he could feel the delicate fluttering of your excitement inside you.
The tingling became stronger now, his body moving above you with enough rhythm to force his cock against the fleshy folds between your legs. The feeling was still so foreign, having only felt it in its fullest form once before, but you knew that tingle just from the sight of him, the smell of him, the taste of him. He did not even need to touch you there to make your body react in such a way, you were certain.
Taking notice of your soft moans against his lips, and the slight gyration of your body, he used his free hand to find the warmth that so enticed him. His fingers settled in that crevice, staying still for a moment, until by some impulse they began to move. Up and down, up and down… A rhythmic motion not unlike the way the rest of his body moved, too. For your part, you broke the kiss to let out a moan that could not be contained by the velvet cage of his adoring mouth any longer.
“Oh!”
Your head had tilted back so far that your neck was now exposed, completely subject to his will. As his hand moved not faster, but with more pressure, more insistence, he trailed his lips down your jawline, leaving messy, imprecise kisses along your perfumed skin.
Applying increasing pressure, he sank his fingertips into you, that warm, sodden opening between your legs. The sensation was still so new, though the slight burning pain was less than before. You only clenched your teeth slightly, feeling his fingers extend deeper within you, curling upwards toward your belly.
For a moment, he could not pay attention to anything but the way you felt—the way your body reacted to his invasion. Your passageway seemed to pulse around his fingers ever so slightly, as if it was some innate reaction, coercing his fingers further.
He only noticed your slight discomfort when he looked at you, your eyes shut tight. He pressed his lips to your cheek, his hair falling in your face. It was soft, yet ticklish, like a curtain of brown feathers draped over you.
“You all right?” he asked, his voice a soft, soothing whisper. If his touch wasn’t pleasing you enough, his voice so gentle and yet gruff was sure to push you over the edge of pleasure and into the realm of extraordinary bliss. “Tell me if I hurt you.”
“It doesn’t hurt. It’s only slight… You’re quite gentle.”
Against your cheek, you could feel his lips curl into a smile. All the while, his fingers moved slowly, back and forth, migrating between the shallow part of you, and the deepest part.
“Do you like it this way, your highness? Slow… gentle? I could go faster, but I don’t wanna hurt you.”
With a laugh, you shook your head, amused. “You could hurt me and it would still feel like heaven.”
He smiled down at you, then pressed another kiss to those plump, agape lips, sparkling with wetness and trembling with desire. Daryl was never a particularly confident man, but something about the way you wanted him, craved him beyond anything he’d ever known, he felt like he had the whole world in his hands.
And now, he felt the world quake and shiver round his curled fingers, an accumulation of warm wetness pooling where his knuckles breached the entrance of your body in repetitive motions. Coupled with the aching softness of your uncontrollable moans were the sounds of his fingers moving inside you, the rhythmic, involuntary squeezing of the canal creating drenched and airy sighs of its own.
As his fingers pulsed inside of you, you clung tightly to his shoulders, the tan, sun-freckled skin stretched thinly over defined muscles. A strained sigh escaped your lips as your fingers dug into his skin. Daryl’s pace slowed steadily to keep you from coming too soon, but he knew you were so very close.
It amused him a little, the way your body was so sensitive to his touch. He found arousal in the way he could so easily bring you the ultimate pleasure, and the way he could withhold it at will. Despite how subservient he was to you, he could not help but revel in the dominance that came over him when so much control of your perfect body was given willingly over to him.
But you sighed and pouted as his fingers paused inside of you. Opening your eyes, you tilted your head and looked up at him—he traced your jawbone with his finger, while the fingers he had inside you playfully wiggled upwards to make you shiver.
“Daryl,” you sighed, not quite sure what else to say but his name.
In response, he smiled as hazy silvery blue eyes roamed your face, taking in each and every flawless feature. “You’re so beautiful… My sweet angel. I’d like to have you like this forever.”
Though your heart fluttered at his sweet words, you could only muster a few words, as your body anticipated its release: “Do not stop.”
But he did the opposite, removing his fingers altogether and leaving you throbbing, writhing desperately as you groaned softly.
Panting, he sat up, lifting himself up from the bed to look at you, taking you in for a moment as he decided on what to do next. After all, he was leading the way.
Before you could say another word, or even lift up your head to see what he was up to, you felt his hands wrap around your ankles, pulling you towards him as he stood at the end of the bed.
You managed a surprised exclamation at the sudden jolt, your legs now spread just wide enough to fit his body as he climbed over you, his weight holding you against the bed. Now he kissed you again, with lips and tongue moving wildly over yours. Lost in this passion, you found your hands exploring the wide, muscular surface of his back, moving in erratic circles. With each flex of his muscles underneath your soft palms, you let out a breathy sigh, swallowed by his mouth on yours.
As much as you craved his kiss, you knew you craved the hardness between his legs that was pulsing against your sodden entrance more. It was so close to being inside you, so close to that feeling you had only known once before, that you coveted ever since he first made love to you. There was an overwhelming emptiness there always now, where you hadn’t quite felt one before. You had known the carnal pleasures of sex, and now it was like a curse of desire had overtaken you. Not a desire just for the feeling, but for him, and the feeling only he could give to you.
He felt your desire, too. It only heightened his own as his lower body moved against yours, assuaging his hunger for the embrace of your body just enough to keep him from spoiling this moment of closeness with his impatience. You deserved more than a quick burst of passion that ended in an underwhelming sensation of relief. That was what he’d only known before, after all―mindless, loveless moments with nameless, faceless women who could satisfy his purely biological need in the most practical exchange of goods. These occasions were few and far between, but never satiating beyond that primal desire. This was unlike anything he’d felt before, and to make love to someone, real love, was a change of pace he had to orient himself with. A most welcome change, of course.
But he could not hold out much longer, he knew this of his body well enough. So at last he pulled his lips away from yours, his focus turning to the space where your bodies were so close to connecting. He reached down, with a series of gruff pants escaping between his lips, to bring the tip of his cock to your entrance.
There was just a tickle of his flesh brushing against yours, but it was enough to elicit a shiver and a sigh against his sweat-dripping cheek. There, you pressed your lips to his face, with the salt of his clammy skin on your tongue. As he slowly entered you, you felt your body loosen, no longer tense with need, but now just beginning to feel full and warm.
And with a deep, guttural moan, he buried himself further. Despite how slow he tried to move, he could not waste another moment―he did not want for anything in this moment but to be completely inside of you.
The feeling lingered for a while as both of your bodies rested in place. He did not move, neither did you. There was only the erratic beating of your hearts and the heavy breaths escaping your lips. Daryl’s head found its place in the space between your head and your shoulder, where he found refuge in the warmth of your hair, scented with galgant and cloves.
Though you could bask forever in the feeling of him inside you, still and deep, your desire was to feel him move again.
As if on their own accord, your hands moved swiftly down his back to squeeze the flesh of his buttocks, as you’d call it. Ass, as he would call it, you were sure. The feeling elicited a laugh which tickled your cheek.
“Where did you learn to do that, princess?”
“Nowhere,” you replied, just as he lifted himself up to look down upon you. There was a look of playfulness in his eyes, with a considerable amount of increasingly impatient lust. It excited you more, so you moved yourself as much as you could in an attempt to feel the friction of his cock inside you.
Amused at your clumsy wiggling, he relented with a subtle swirl of his hips and a movement of his body which pulled him further out of you, until he slowly buried himself deeper again.
His arms propped up the bulk of his weight as he moved in and out of you at increasing pace, his breath becoming more and more ragged all the while. Nothing could hold him back as he began to lose control of himself. Every cell in his body screamed for release, and he couldn’t slow down now. His lower body moved faster with each thrust that shook you to your core, where the tingly feeling of pleasure was building up inside once again.
Wide-eyed and breathless, your hands moved to his shoulders in an attempt to keep yourself steady, but it was no use. His sheer physical strength and size was enough to make your body practically seize from the force of his thrusts. In these desperate, hungry movements, there was a deep reverence—a kind of devotion you’d never known before, not even as a princess. He made love to you like it was an act of worship, in every conceivable way.
From the way he focused on you, as though the sun and stars revolved around you, to the feeling of his body making every frantic, passionate movement not only to sate his need, but to please you, he wanted nothing more than to serve you, as was his sworn oath.
And as you came closer to losing control of your loins, your body squeezed and writhed around him. In a fit of pleasure, so close to the precipice of bliss, your back arched and your head was thrown backwards with an involuntary spasm, as your legs clenched tight around his waist to draw him further into you.
He was so deep, and you felt so full. The pain was there, lingering, as you were stretched open again and again. In all your ignorance, a part of you feared he’d tear you open, but you trusted him—your gallant, noble knight.
Now your hands held for dear life to his upper arms, where well-worn and well-defined muscles gleamed with sweat and ached with each part of him that needed release, which was soon to come. Your heavy, quickened breaths formed a pattern that seemed to match his, with occasional moans, groans, and even a slight curse or two escaping his tightened lips.
And soon, a sudden wave of vibrations overtook you—that sensation you’d been dreaming of since the first night he bedded you. It was like a hurricane sweeping through your body, each new pulse of tingling pleasure surging through you like a strong gust of wind that left you squirming and crying out underneath him.
It was a feast for his eyes to see you like this, and to know just how much power his love held over you. With each gasp, each breathy moan, each soft convulsion that contorted your body, he lost himself in your bliss.
He couldn’t help but kiss your trembling lips as your legs wrapped tighter around his waist, pulling his body further against you and into your pulsing center. This feeling, along with the soft dance of his tongue across and around yours, drew him closer to his own release.
It had been buried deep in the back of his mind from the moment he realized you were taken—that terrible longing, tainted by the fear that never again would he feel this again. Of course he knew the most important thing was rescuing you and returning you home safe, but there was that selfish part of him that desired you carnally, because once was not enough.
Now that you were safe, he feared he’d never be able to go another second without you again.
So, with a final deep thrust and a hearty groan, he let his body go. He was quick enough to free himself from you, releasing the buildup of his arousal onto the soft inside of your thigh.
The warmth tickled you slightly as it trickled down. You watched through hazy, lidded eyes as Daryl’s hand stroked his pulsing cock until it was rendered limp as if with exhaustion. His body drooped over yours, his head cradled against your shoulder. Fast, heavy breaths warmed your neck. In a matter of seconds, he caught his breath enough to catch your lips with his once more.
Heady air thick with the scent of honey and sex swirled between your bodies, moving languidly beneath the fur blanket Daryl had draped over the two of you somewhere between lazy, sweaty kisses and tangled arms.
Tonight was different than the first night you made love. That night, the passionate fire he stoked inside of you kept your mind alert enough to stay awake with him into the wee hours of the morning, murmurs of dreams and worries slipping between your lips. Tonight, you could hardly keep your eyes open once you’d felt your body sink into the straw-filled cot beneath you.
Daryl, in his lust, hadn’t noticed you’d begun to drift off as he showered you in kisses. When your hands began to slowly lose their tight, needful grip on his shoulders, he let his lips separate from yours with a smile. Your head sank like an anchor onto the pillow beneath you. With your last sensation the feeling of your knight’s lips pressed gently to your temple, you entered a deep, much-needed sleep.
The night was still when you awoke in a slight daze, colored a deep brownish orange from the flicker of the dying hearth. Your newborn senses clung to the feeling of the soft fur beneath your outstretched hand, where once Daryl lay.
You stirred awake at the realization of his absence. Sitting up, the fur blanket fell from your body to expose your naked breasts. A sudden shock dispelled any last remnants of sleep. You weren’t at all accustomed to sleeping in the nude, after all.
Moreover, you feared something, though you weren’t quite sure what, had happened to your knight.
As you raised yourself from the modest cot to dress yourself in the once discarded chemise, you could not help the fearful thought of whatever remained of the Saviors taking Daryl from you, leaving you alive in some cruel, twisted act of revenge for the death of their leader.
But as you stepped outside, into the darkness of the early morning, Daryl’s voice, grainy and soft, came to you through the crisp air. In your slight daze from waking just moments ago, it took you a moment or two to recognize his voice speaking your name.
Your eyes caught up faster than your ears when you turned to see him, illuminated only by the light of a small lantern placed on the pebbled ground near his feet. He was dressed already, a simple tunic of linen white, with a wool cloak of deep indigo on his back. The closer you stepped towards him, the more the almost crimson glow of the majestic Friesian’s coat shimmered to distinguish the creature from the black of night.
“Phantom?” you spoke softly, rubbing your sleep-heavy eyes as if to wake yourself from a dream. You’d almost forgotten about the loyal steed, and it was hard to imagine him surviving the chaos of the battle just hours ago, but then again, you survived.
Phantom seemed to perk up at the sound of your voice. He lifted his head to meet your eyes, and left the side of his master to slowly come towards you. The gentle creature’s muzzle seemed to slide perfectly between your delicate hands as he huffed a breath of air. After a few moments of accepting your pets, he raised his head to nuzzle your shoulder, nearly putting you off balance with the sheer force of the large animal’s affections.
Daryl flinched for a moment, about ready to lunge forward to catch you if you fell, but you caught yourself with your back foot, laughing despite the slight pain of the raw blisters that began to form there from last night’s escapades.
“Oh, I am so glad to see you.” The horse lowered his head as if in reverence, some kind of formal acknowledgement of your voice. You ran your fingers through Phantom’s silky forelock, which you knew to be quite pleasing to the destrier. “I thought I might never do so again.”
“He found his way home.” Daryl’s voice came closer, until you felt the warmth of his chest against your back. His chin rested upon your shoulder, a comforting weight. “Like he always does.”
Daryl’s arms squeezed tight around your waist, pulling you flush against him. While still lavishing attention upon the rather needy horse before you, you closed your eyes and took in his scent of pine and honey. But you did not stay still long, turning to see his face you’d dreamed of, just to remember that he was real. Phantom, though, huffed in slight disappointment.
“When will my father come?” you asked quietly. Something about the stillness and the darkness of the early morning, just a matter of time before the sun would begin to rise, made you whisper.
Daryl’s chin lifted towards the distant horizon, where the first sliver of dawn slowly parted the darkness of night to give in to the pale light of morning.
“He said we’d meet here at first light. Should be any moment now.”
Daryl’s mind drifted elsewhere. Last night’s events had left him with a whirlwind of emotions and revelations. Negan’s death brought with it the triumph of war, the splendor of victory that he knew well from practically a lifetime of battle. And with war came the inevitable grief of countless lives lost. Daryl’s thoughts lingered on the duke, the prince, and the rogue Savior who’d helped them. He wondered if they’d made it out of the dungeon alive.
And when those thoughts gave way to the realization that, within only a matter of time, you would return to the arms of your father, and no longer would you be his. The king would never understand your love for each other. Why should he, anyway? Daryl was of lowly birth, even if he was a knight. As much as he wanted to believe King Ezekiel would allow him to marry you, he knew he was more likely to end up headless at the mere suggestion.
As he held you now, and as he knew you in the most sacred passions of love that you had shared, you were not just a princess, but his princess. When you were away from him, the world around you blissfully unaware of the truth, you were just a princess. Not his, at least as far as the world was concerned. Despite all logic, he knew there would need to be a time when the love between you was not hidden in the shadows of the forest.
Daryl’s pensiveness was not lost on you now. You felt him cling tighter to you as he looked off into the distance, a heaviness in his face. Your hand caressed his cheek with enough pressure to bring his attention back to you. His expression became lighter by just a tad, but whatever plagued his thoughts was still lingering.
“What is it, my love?”
“Nothing, I just…” He trailed off, shaking his head as if to rid himself of these worries. “I wish we had more time.”
Where there was once a look of concern blossomed a sweet smile that was almost potent enough to make him forget your father altogether.
“We always have time. We will make time, like we always have.”
But in your heart, you knew what he meant, and you felt the same. How long could you go on like this, hiding your love from your father? Escaping into the woods to consummate your love in secret? For as much as you loved him, and as sure as you were that your heart belonged to no one else, you were not sure how you could keep your love a secret much longer.
Still, the time would come when you could tell your father. You were sure of that.
“You told me that you’d marry me,” you whispered, lips fluttering against the soft hairs of his cheek. “You said someday, you’d marry me. And a knight always keeps his promise, especially to his lady.”
The knight let out a huff, then soon found himself nuzzled into the warmth of your hair, where memories of every moment spent in your company curled around his face in a deep, honey-scented embrace.
“Someday,” he murmured. “I promise you, my princess.”
When his lips touched yours, he felt your tremble against the cold. He pulled the cloak from his back to swing it around you and wrap you in a woolen cocoon. Pulling you ever closer, your chest was heated by the fire that seemed to perpetually burn in his. Another longer, deeper kiss, then a smile shared between the two of you.
“Perhaps one day, I will be your queen.”
His warm hands rubbed your back in steady motions as his eyes traced dreamily over your face, each curve and crevice and color another feature he would keep to memory for in those moments when he could not hold you. He wanted for nothing in this moment—everything he could’ve dreamt of wanting was here, in the shape of you.
“You are my queen.”
A new heat rouged your cheeks and ignited your heart. To be his queen seemed to be the greatest height you could ever reach, if only it meant you were the queen of his heart.
Dawn stained the sky with rich hues of rosy orange and dusty violet as you fell into another kiss, though your lips would be torn away by the distant sound of clopping hooves coming closer beyond the horizon. Not just a handful, but nearly hundreds.
But the fearful flutter in your heart soon subsided as the blue flag of Alexandria raised above the militia, their silhouettes coming into view. They were led in triumph by the king, flanked on either side by Duke Richard, and one man you did not recognize—Prince Jesus of Hilltop. In your father’s hand was the chain that leashed his mighty companion, Shiva. They were victorious, and no more would you fear Negan, nor walkers, nor death itself. Not when your knight was near.
Not even death could tear you from him, and as you held his gaze, you felt a calmness overcome you—a relief, as though you knew that everything, somehow, would be all right.
~
Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated!
Series Masterlist
#daryl dixon smut#daryl dixon x reader#daryl dixon x female reader#daryl dixon fanfiction#daryl dixon x y/n#daryl dixon x you#daryl dixon x reader insert#daryl dixon#the walking dead#the walking dead fanfiction#the walking dead smut#the walking dead fanfic#norman reedus#norman reedus x reader#norman reedus smut#norman reedus x female reader#norman reedus fanfiction#norman reedus fanfic#norman reedus x you#norman reedus x y/n#norman reedus x reader insert#merciless beauty series#theteasetwrites fanfiction
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May I add: Daryl's a dad in this one. 👀🥰
#daryl dixon x you#daryl dixon x y/n#daryl dixon x reader#daryl dixon x female reader#daryl dixon#twd#the walking dead daryl#the walking dead#twd daryl dixon#twd fanfic#daryl dixon fanfic#dad!daryl dixon#norman reedus x reader#norman reedus fanfic#norman reedus x female reader#norman reedus fanfiction
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Daryl gets flustered seeing y/n thong when she bends over and needs her now. Established relationship, jealousy, mostly gentle but sub reader, extra points for ass man Daryl. <3
Can you grab this for me?
A/N: love this idea❤️ thanks for requesting, love writing for you all!
WARNINGS: unprotected sex, fingering, teasing, yeah yeah yeah 18+
“Daryl!” You yell out, your voice echoing through the empty abandoned house.
You waited, arms reaching, standing on your tippy toes trying to reach a can of food in the cabinet of the house you and Daryl were searching. The counter was filled with trash and covered in dust leaving no room for you to be able to jump onto the counter in your usual manner in times like this.
“Daryl!” You call out once more, irritation lacing your tone this time.
You hear a thump from the upstairs before he comes flying down the steps to your rescue, fear suddenly coursing through him. He stops abruptly, watching you try to jump up to reach something in the cabniet, just hoping your finger tips would be able to touch it.
He couldn’t help but notice everytime you jumped your shirt rose up slightly, revealing the straps of a red thong, siting just above the hem of your jeans on your hips, his face instantly curling up into a smirk, your head snaps back to his, you were frustrated, narrowing your eyes at him.
“Are you just going to stand there and stare at me or are you going to help me grab this?” You snap, wondering why a shit eating grin was covering his face.
Daryl snorts at your attitude. Suddenly feeling the blood from his cheeks rush to his lap at the thought of you bent over that counter in that very sexy red thong.
“Oh, I’ll help ya grab somethin’.” He smirks, slapping your ass and giving it a slight squeeze emitting a small yelp out of you.
“Daryl!” You swat at him.
He effortlessly reaches up grabbing the can, handing it to you. Your cheeks red at his actions. You mumble a small thank you suddenly feeling shy as you lean down, pulling your bag from beside the counter and putting the food in it.
Once again, in Daryls favor you flash him with your thong once more.
“How many times ya gonna flash me with these?” He asks, his fingers catching the string of them and letting it snap back against your skin. “You been wearin’ these all day?”
You try to stand up but his hands instantly push your back down, leaving you bent over in front of him. Your breathing hitches when a pair of warm hands catches your hips, touching the exposed skin from your shirt raising up.
“Y-yes.” You stutter suddenly feeling stupid, you didn’t even realize that you have most likely been flashing people all day,
The jealously was surging over Daryl. He kept thinking about everytime you bent over who was looking at you and who saw what was only his to see? The thought made him want to go home and beat every man at Alexandria bloody.
“M’ the only one who gets ta see this.” He rubs his hands down to your ass, smacking it again. “Ain’t that right?”
“Yes, Daryl.” You breathe. “All yours.”
Daryl knew exactly how to get you to fall apart in his hands, sometimes with a single touch. It was one of things you hated most about your relationship with him, how at anytime, anywhere, you were ready for him.
His fingertips softly ghosting your skin, he runs them over your sides to your stomach, unbuttoning your jeans.
“Daryl,” you stop him, grabbing his wrist. “What if someone sees? Rick and Michonne-“
“Don’t care.” He says unphased. “Need ya, so bad.”
You slowly let go of him with shaky hands, you shiver against his touch, revealing in it. Your eyes close as his hand dips into your jeans, his finger tips running up and down the already wet thinned cloth of your thong.
“Shit, Y/N.” He grunts. “Yer already so wet and I ain’t even done nothing to ya.”
You blush. “Always ready for you, Dar.”
You could feel his erection against your ass making you more needy. You try to wiggle onto to him but his hand stops you smacking you harshly, you whimper.
“Needy little slut ain’t ya?” He chuckles.
“I need you, please.” You pant.
Oh, he needed you more. He thought. Your clit was now throbbing, you were basically dripping, you knew by now your panties were drenched. You were aching for him in every way.
His finger dips inside your thongs, you gasp as his finger tip runs up and down your wet slit, easily moving. He’s teases your enterance making you groan in frustration.
“Don’t be a tease.” You breathe, voice hoarse and needy.
“Oh like how you been today?”
Your head falls in pleasure as he gives in, easing one thick finger inside you, stretching you out. He continuously hits your sweet spot deep inside you. Your hips buck back to him, causing him to add another finger, you moan. Your thighs start to shake as your body starts reaching your climax, not being able to hold yourself up much longer.
“Daryl, I-I’m-“ you moan, your walls convulsing around him. “Gonna cum.”
Daryl smirks, suddenly his hand come out of your pants, fingers covered in your arousal. You clench around nothing, still throbbing. Aggravation floods your body. Your body turns to face him quickly, pushing his shoulders back, he doesn’t even budge.
“What the fuck was that for?” You snap.
“Not coming unless it’s on my cock, pretty thing.” He says, pulling you back into him. “Only I can take care of ya pretty little pussy, remember that.”
Your anger fades away as his lips attack your neck, softy and gently. You quickly break the kiss to yank your pants off, he unbottons his quickly. His hands go underneath your thighs signaling you to jump which you do, he catches you with ease, backing you up against the closest wall.
Your throw your arms around his neck as he kisses your neck again, he grabs his erection putting it against your soaking wet entrance, his tip rubbing up and down your slit, you whimper, your grasp tightening on him.
“Ready?” He whispers and you nod.
He flexes his hips, his erection sliding into you, filling you up. He grunts as he bottoms out, you gasp, enjoying the feeling of him stretching you out as pleasure shoots across your body.
“Fuck,” he grunts, his rythym speeding up. “Miss ya tight little pussy so much.”
“Ah,” you moan, burying your face into his warm neck.
His hips continue to rock into you, pushing you harder up against the wall. The wet sounds filling the air. He felt amazing in you causing you to throw your head back against the wall.
“Dar,” you whimper. “You feel so g-good.”
“Yeah baby?” He says through clenched teeth.
Your legs wrap around him tighter, you could’ve sworn you felt him in your belly. His breathing labored, you clench around him, pulsing. Your hands twist in his hair causing him to groan in pleasure. You snap, your climax coating him as he releases inside you.
“Fuck,” he mumbles, breathing heavily into your neck. “Fucking hell.”
“That was,” you start, your breathing matching his. “That was amazing.”
He pulls out, leaving you empty, missing the feel of him. He sets you down and your legs wobble a bit and he catches you quickly, steadying you. You giggle as you hold onto his wrists.
“Can ya walk?” He grins, full of pride.
“What can I say, Dixon? It’s all your fault.” You smile.
You slip your pants back on, along with your thong, feeling the sweet stickiness from his climax dripping out of you, you groan, the sticky feeling between your thighs being too much.
“What’s wrong?”
“You’re dripping out of me, literally.”
He laughs pulling you into him, sweetly kissing your lips and tapping your butt before releasing you.
“What can I say? It’s all your fault.”
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holy trinity of dilfs
#my fav dilfs#husbands#rick grimes smut#daryl dixon smut#negan smut#rick grimes x reader#daryl dixon x reader#negan x reader#andrew lincoln#norman reedus#jeffrey dean morgan#twd smut#rick grimes fluff#daryl dixon x y/n#negan x y/n#rick grimes x female reader#rick grimes x you#rick grimes fanfiction#rick grimes#daryl dixon fanfiction#daryl dixon x female reader#daryl dixon#negan fanfiction#negan smith#negan fic
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Imagine a protective Daryl.
Warnings: Persuasive language, awkwardness and uncomfortable, Angst, attempted SA.
Spencer was trying his absolute hardest to convince you to come over. He invaded your personal space, touching your arm and even trying to caress your face in a slimy attempt at persuasion.
"Come on doll, let me treat you just for one night," he purred, his voice dripping with false charm.
"No really, I'm good." you recoiled, replying in a firm, negative tone. Undeterred Spencer pressed further.
"Please sweetie? You know you want to, I can show you a great time." He winked lasciviously, sticking his tongue out the side of his mouth in a vulgar manner.
"Leave me alone, I said no!" Panic rising in your chest, you raised your voice slightly, hoping someone would overhear and intervene. Spencer had managed to corner you between his arms, crowding your body in a predatory stance.
"Oh come on now, what else have you got planned-" he started, but was cut off as Daryl Dixon suddenly rushed past in a blur.
Daryl pushed you safely behind him with one hand while punching Spencer squarely in the face with the other. You heard the satisfying smack of his fist making contact. Spencer crumpled to the floor with a grunt.
"She said no and if you EVER come near her again, lay a finger on her, speak to her or EVEN look at her in the wrong way - I'll kill'ya" Daryl growled through gritted teeth, grabbing Spencer by the scruff of his neck and glaring into his eyes from just inches away. After a few tense moments, he dropped Spencer's limp body and turned to you pulling you protectively into his arms and away from the ball of mess on the floor.
"You okay baby?" His voice gravelly and rough.
"Yeah, that was kinda hot though"
#daryl dixon#the walking dead#norman reedus#twd#daryl x reader#daryl fanfiction#daryl#daryl x y/n#daryl dixon x reader#daryl x female reader
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Daryl cuddles ❤️
Once he gets more comfortable in the relationship to the point where he can be his most vulnerable self, he’s be a huge cuddle bug. Burying his face in the crook of your neck, in your chest…
His embrace would be comforting and warm, maybe even holding your hand, doing that little thing with his thumb on the back of your hand.
Sometimes he’ll allow you to baby him, to hold him, scratch his scalp, stroke his cheek. He loves it so much, just being comfortable and vulnerable in your arms. I feel like sometimes he would get overwhelmed with his love for you, having no way to let it out besides crying. He probably hasn’t experienced much love from people, let alone romantically.
Sometimes even the most strongest, gruffest of people need to be loved and babied.
#vampiredaryl speaks#daryl dixon#daryl dixon fanfiction#daryl dixon twd#the walking dead#the walking dead daryl#daryl imagines#daryl dixon x reader#daryl dixon imagine#daryl fanfiction#twd daryl#daryl dixon smut#daryl x female reader#norman reedus x reader#norman reedus#norman reedus fanfiction#twd#twd daryl dixon
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Holding On To You | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader
Summary: Despite not being too keen on PDA, Daryl craved comfort too. He got that comfort by holding your hand in his. It wasn't always that simple, though. He had to work his way up to being comfortable with that. Luckily, you were a patient person.
Or, three different scenarios in where the archer shows progress in his comfort with you.
Genre: Fluff.
Era: Pre-prison (on the road); pre-Alexandria; Alexandria, pre Saviour arc.
Warnings: Swearing, migraines, mentions of injuries.
Word count: 2.1k
A/n: @louifaith, the muse you are, feeding our Daryl obsessed minds with your beautifully crafted scenarios. I wasn't feeling well today (a migraine and I was pretty dizzy) and didn't get much writing done, but this idea deserved to be written. There's a bit of Eugene slander in this but it's because I don't really like S5 Eugene. He's way better in the other seasons imo. Anyways, I hope you like this!
➳༻❀✿❀༺➳
The cruelty of life seemed endless. With the stability and safety of the farm being something of the past, having to scavenge for scraps and having to move from house to house every few days, and with the impending arrival of Lori's little baby, everyone's spirits were diminished. Everyone longed for the comfort the farm brought for those few weeks you had all been looking for Sophia, everyone wanted a decent meal to satiate their hunger and although Lori's unborn baby was a reminder that innocence still existed, it was also a cruel reminder that you all needed to find someplace to plant some roots, and fast—especially if you didn't want to attract the dead with the baby's loud crying.
You sighed softly as you quietly followed behind Daryl, yours and his boots making clear tracks in the deep snow. The archer, as observant as ever, noticed your shift in mood and turned his head, eyeing you carefully.
“Ya alrigh'?” he questioned, turning his attention back to the tracks in front of him. Your relationship was pretty new, only having been "officially" together since the two of you had shared a kiss back after the fall of the farm.
You nodded, although he couldn't see you. “I'm fine.”
Daryl hummed, unconvinced. “Yer not fine. I know ya better than tha'.”
Your lips twitched up into a smile, walking a little faster to walk next to him. Daryl slowed his pace slightly to allow you to walk next to him at a steady pace, eyeing you as you adjusted your compound bow over your shoulder—a gift he had gotten you when you had mentioned wanting to learn how to hunt.
“I'm fine, I promise. I'm just tired, that's all,” you replied reassuringly, walking almost shoulder to shoulder with your partner.
Daryl shot you a worried look, fully prepared to head back. “If yer tired, we can go back. This trail ain't leadin' us anywhere, anyway.”
“I don't mean tired in the literal sense,” you corrected. “I'm just tired of all this moving around. Not knowing what our next meals going to be, if we even eat at all, not knowing when our current camp's going to be overrun with walkers, not knowing when Lori's baby's going to be here... It's mentally exhausting. We all need a break.”
Daryl nudged his nose up in a nod. “Yeah,” he agreed. “We could do with a couple' of days where we ain't gotta worry.”
Before you could respond, there was a snap of a twig ahead of the two of you. Instinctively, you and Daryl raised your respective weapons in the direction of the noise, expecting to find a walker staggering towards you. However, instead of coming face to face with danger, you saw a small deer walking over to something in the distance.
Daryl raised his crossbow, aiming to take the shot. However, your hand on his arm halted his intentions. He shot you a questioning look, but you only hushed him and beckoned for him to follow you. The two of you slowly crept closer, the scene before you becoming clearer. The small deer made its way to what was presumably its mother, nuzzling against her legs.
You smiled softly at the sight. Despite the fall of the world, beauty still remained. Unbeknownst to you, Daryl was thinking the exact same thing at that moment, but he wasn't looking at the deer. He was gazing at you, taking in your radiant smile, the sparkle in your eyes, just everything about you. You truly were beautiful to the archer.
Hesitantly, Daryl brushed his hand against yours. Your smile widened but you made no move to grab his hand, not wanting to scare him off. You moved at his pace, and whether he held your hand at that moment was his decision.
In the end, the only thing he did was link his pinky with yours, and it was a perfect moment for you. In your mind, that was really good progress for a man who wasn't familiar with giving or receiving comfort. You'd wait as long as you needed to for Daryl to be comfortable around you. You'd never push him, never.
➳༻❀✿❀༺➳
The road seemed endless. You listened to the incessant yapping from one of your newest companions in your group of ragtag survivors, Eugene Porter, and had to resist the urge to tell him to shut up. Despite the euphoria and relief that came with reuniting with your group and having new members that could help you all, you were tired. Not just physically, but mentally, too. It was so much worse this time around than when you were initially on the road two years back. You were sporting a bruised cheek with deep cuts and scrapes littering the rest of your body, and you had a raging migraine.
And Eugene's droning wasn't helping matters at all.
As if sensing your deteriorating resolve at not biting the poor man's head of, Rick finally called for a break. “We rest here for now. We'll get moving again in an hour. Everything you want to do, do it now. Once we move again, we're not stopping until nightfall.”
Everyone soon dispersed, some heading to a nearby creek to refill the water supply, some starting a small fire to heat up some food and some even laying down on the hard ground to get some much needed sleep. You walked over to a tree and slid down against it, resting your head on your knees, willing the migraine away.
You soon heard a rustling next to you, before feeling a body sitting down next to you. You didn't even have to look up to know it was Daryl—the archer's presence was something you had grown used to and you could identify him anywhere.
“Hey,” he greeted you quietly, loosely hugging his knees. “Ya alrigh'?”
You hummed, lifting your head to look at him. “I'm fine,” you replied. “I just have a migraine.”
Daryl nodded, his face showing sympathy for you. “M'sorry we dun' have anythin' fer yer migraine. I know how bad they can get.”
You smiled and shook your head, placing your hand on the ground beside you, right between you and Daryl. “It's okay. It'll go away eventually. It's not that bad, as long as Eugene's quiet.”
Daryl chuckled, eyeing the aforementioned man who was sitting near the campfire. “Yeah, he's quite annoying, ain't he?”
“No, he's alright. He just needs to learn to be quiet from time to time.”
Daryl hummed and quieted down, simply basking in the early afternoon heat under the shade of the tree while the two of you observed the survivors going about their chores. However, Rick soon called for everyone to regroup, and you and Daryl got up to follow behind him.
You and Daryl walked at the back, giving you some semblance of privacy, and some semblance of relief from Eugene's rambling as he was at the front with Abraham and Rosita. Slowly and hesitantly, Daryl moved closer to you and brushed his hand against yours, before slowly interlacing his fingers through yours.
You smiled up at him, and he returned the smile with a small one of his own. It may not have been the first time that you've held hands with the archer, but it was the first time that you've done so with people around. Although Daryl slightly manoeuvred the two of you in a way that your locked hands wouldn't draw attention if people weren't directly looking at you, it was still a big deal for you. He was starting to show you off publicly. Although people back at the prison knew you as "the hunter's girl" because of an incident where a guy flirted with you and Daryl put him in his place, PDA wasn't something they ever saw from the man. He preferred to keep that part of your lives private—so this simple gesture was a big deal.
You squeezed his hand, a gesture you and Daryl had come up with to quietly tell the other "I love you". Daryl smiled softly and squeezed your hand back.
You truly loved this man, and he had shown countless times that he loved you, too.
➳༻❀✿❀༺➳
“You guys should come over again. This was nice,” Eric told you with a smile, him and Aaron walking out onto the porch with you and Daryl.
You smiled at him and nodded. “We will, especially if you're going to be serving that spaghetti you made again. It was delicious. Seriously, thank you. It's the best meal we've had in a while.”
“No thanks necessary,” Aaron replied, waving you off. “It was our pleasure.”
Daryl nodded, moving to shake Aaron's extended hand. “Thanks. This was a hell of a lot better than tha' party at Deanna's woulda been.”
Aaron nodded and withdrew his hand again, allowing Eric to take his place before moving over to give you a hug. You returned it before giving Eric a hug too, and then pulled back.
“We should get going. Once again, thanks for tonight.”
“Once again, it's our pleasure,” Eric laughed. “Goodnight, guys. We'll see you around.”
“Goodnight,” you greeted them.
“Nigh',” Daryl responded, turning to you and subconsciously extending his hand to you.
You smiled at him but didn't say anything, not wanting him to change his mind about it. You slipped your hand into his and walked with him down the porch steps and into the relatively quiet streets of Alexandria, music from Deanna's party playing very faintly in the background.
You and Daryl didn't instantly go home. You simply walked through the streets, familiarising yourselves with the community. Daryl never let go of your hand; he had even brought your hand up to his lips once to kiss your knuckles, and your heart swelled with love for the man.
The two of you had run into a couple of the people in the community who were returning to their homes after the party, and you had suspected that Daryl would pull his hand from yours, but he never did. His grip on your hand seemed to tighten slightly during your interactions with those people, seeking your comfort around people he didn't know. It made you feel special, important. It made you happy to know that the man you met back at the quarry trusted you enough to bring him comfort.
Later that night, when the two of you returned to the empty house and retreated into the sanctuary of your shared basement, snuggled up together under the covers was when you finally addressed what he had done. Daryl was laying with his head on your chest, absentmindedly tracing shapes and figures onto your hand.
“You held my hand today,” you told him, softly threading your fingers through his freshly washed, brown locks, the shower having been courtesy of your skillful convincing.
“Mhm,” Daryl hummed absentmindedly, nuzzling his face deeper into your chest.
“In front of people,” you said, eyeing his reaction carefully.
Daryl simply glanced up at you, his face not revealing anything. “Ya want me to stop doin' tha'?”
You shook your head. “No, I like it. It's just a little out of the ordinary for you, and it took me by surprise.”
Daryl was quiet for a few moments. “I always wanna hold yer hand when we're walkin' together. I jus' never had the courage to. Dun' want people to overreact when they see it. But, I dunno... I love ya and I'll be damned if I dun' hold my girl's hand 'cause of wha' people think.”
You giggled and kissed the top of Daryl's head. “So I can expect an increase in handholding?”
Daryl nodded. “Yeah.”
You smiled at him. “Good. That's exactly what I wanted to hear. I love you, Dar.”
Daryl placed a kiss to your chest, before laying his head back down. “Love ya more, sunshine.”
#krys writes .ೃ࿐#daryl dixon#daryl dixon x reader#daryl x reader#twd daryl#daryl dixon imagine#daryl dixon x female reader#daryl dixon fanfic#daryl dixon the walking dead#daryl#the walking dead daryl#daryl fanfiction#the walking dead#norman reedus#norman reedus x reader
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Hey, I love your stories for Daryl Dixon! If you wouldn’t mind I had a request? Daryl and reader have a pre established relationship (met at the querry, got together at the prison, got ‘married’ at some point) of a few years. During the line up, after Daryl hits Negan for killing Abraham, Negan can kind of figure out him and reader are together by matching wedding rings. To punish Daryl, negan can hang the reader until they ‘die’ (stop moving) and cuts her down. After Daryl is taken the group can realize, after being sad for a bit, that the reader is breathing and is alive and bring a her to hilltop. Negan could have put a bag over readers head or something before being hung so that once cut down its harder to tell she’s alive, and they could have even taken a picture of reader hung up to mess with Daryl in his cell. Dual POV. Extra extra angst, and happy ending/reunion when Daryl escapes please! If you could, could it be a few parts long? I understand if you can’t do that or even get to this request at all and that’s 100% okay! Anyways, love your story’s!
Someone cooked here... this is beautifully messed up. So right up my ally!
Hangman
(Daryl Dixon x Reader) Masterlist
Description: Y/N Dixon was to be punished for her husbands actions at the line up. Negan decided to do it in style. To have a rope looped for your neck, intended for your death. Daryl watches you hang before being dragged away. But you had still been alive by the time you were cut down.
2.1k words
Warnings (Mentions of suicide, gore, ANGST, violence, injury, ect.)
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
You met Daryl and slowly fell in love with him. Most say they fell in love at first sight. But you? It was slowly then all at once. He was a gruff man, but under that was the most caring person you ever met. You had caught yourself thinking of him differently while on the road after the farm fell. You were friends at the farm, joking and teasing one another.
"You bein' sweet on me?"
You sniffle wiping a tear and punching him in the arm. He had gotten shot by Andrea and had fallin on a bolt while looking for Sophia. The punch hurt your redden knuckles. You had turned and laid Andrea out on the grass. Her cry's of "Did I kill him?!" Sent you to shut her mouth. Your lip wobble trying to not met him eye to eye. Daryl sighed, "Come on girl. No water works for me." He chuckled at the sight, amused to see you so worked up for his sake.
He learned you cared for him that day. He also learned how much he did when everyone was separated after the farm fell. He hugged you. More of shoved you into him practically about to lift you in the air.
“What? Getting sweet on me Dixon?”
It didn’t become romantic until the first night at the prison. Better know to Daryl as ‘THE kiss’. You had finally felt safe for the first time in a while, and you were thinking of him like crazy. So, when he was a little too close and looked down to your lips for a split second… you took action and ran with it. You had grabbed him with both hands and slowly lean into him. Didn’t last long, a peck— a test. He looked taken aback before it clicked and he was kissing you more. Now this moment was better known to you as ‘scarring T-dog’. He had gone to find both of you for dinner and found Daryl pinning you to a wall while making out.
The question of marriage wasn’t proposed as much talked about one late night months into the prisons development. You lay down legs tangled you smiling at him like a fool. The people of the prison loved Daryl. So when a new comer he saved reference to you as Mrs. Dixon it got you feeling a way. “M’ not sure I wanna ask what’s got you all giddy.” You rolled into him more, a dumb smile on your face, “You~”. He raised a brow at you. There were moments when you got all lovey, on him, normally when you were about to start your period. Or ovulating which was a different kind of lovey…
“What do you think about marriage?”
He was not expecting that. He froze thinking of his parents. “Never had a good example of it?” He just didn’t understand the purpose of it. What was to be married? More so with how the world is now. You lean your head against his chest, “I see it as just a promise. To promise myself to you.” He looked down to meet your eyes, “Thought ya were already mine?” You nodded with a smile, “Exactly, I’m already yours. But I would be caring your name as mine.” That is when it sank in, you a Dixon. The Dixons. Them. His hold on you became a little tighter. It would mean everything they already did. He knew the only death could part each other. Thats when you officially became his wife. Later with rings to match.
Till death do us part…
That lead you all to here and now. Face to face to death. Negan, finished with his brutal attack to Abraham. The remainder of what left of him desiccated. Negan swang the bloody bat splattering everyone with blood. His taunting made the hot head that is your husband try and attack him. He landed a crushing blow before getting pinned.
Your POV
It had happened so fast. Daryl was pinned with his own crossbow pointed at his head. The man holding it speaking, “I could end it right here.” You couldn’t even speak, you were shaking. Had a hand to your mouth trying to quiet your sobs. ‘Please don’t kill him… not him.’ Negan had noticed the ring on your finger and took a look to everyone’s face at that moment. He finally turned back to Daryl, “Nah, you don’t kill that. Not unless you try a little first.” A sick smile pulling his lips, “Put him back in line.” He eyed Daryl, “I don’t know what lying pricks you’ve been dealing with but I did say you only get one! No exceptions.” Negan leaned back before slowly turning to you and pointing, “Get her up.” You were swiftly pulled to your feet. Daryl’s voice booming in displeasure. Negan spoke again put to the group surrounding you, “We’ve never done this before! Simon… get the noose.” Some ooos rolled through the crowd.
Negan turned back to Rick. Daryl still wiggling free to help you. “See Rick I don’t like the look in your eye. Any of your eyes, you just don’t seem to get it!” It was Michonne voice urgent as she witnessed them set up the rope in a tree, “W-we get it. You don’t have to do that-“ Negans voice booming with amusement, “Oh I know you do but I did say no exceptions.” He turned his gaze to Daryl at the mention.
You were to be made as an example. To everyone but also for Daryl’s action. You couldn’t blame him for attacking him. He was a sick man doing horrendous things… and with a smile on top of it. You watched the rope go over a branch and someone put a wooden box down under the hanging rope.
You remember finding your Uncle hanging from a pipe in the garage. You were 8. The corners office stated he was hanging there for half a hour before he died, cause of death asphyxiation. The height he fell from didn't break his neck. The height of the box to the tree wasn’t high enough either.
Daryl was cursing and spitting threats as they dragged you to stand on the box. “I’LL KILL YOU, TOUCH HER AND I’LL KILL YOU!!!” But as the rope was looped around your head those threats turned to please, “No— PUNISH ME! IT WAS ME! NOT HER-“ He was crying and you looked on while he thrashed around. You smiled to him. You were scared sure, whether you were going to die fast or slow going through your mind.
Tears tracked down your face but you had stopped crying and had a look that could kill. Negan only seemed cheerful as always taking notice to your calming demeanor. You looked on to everyone on their knees as they stare at you with pure panic. You saw Rick’s hand shaking, mouth periodically opening to say something but he had nothing to say to get you out of this. Daryl had stopped thrashing and was looking to you with a face that pained you. He was pale from blood loss, eyes brimming with tears.
Your vision was blocked by a bag that was thrown over your head. You could slightly see through the fabric. Your heartbeat was in your ears. Negan had now come to stand next to you, “Now there is a new world order. You have shit I want so you give it to me or you could join— Hell her name?” You hear a savior state your name. “Ahh Y/N here… So let’s get this crystal clear for all of you now. You all belong to me.” He turned to you, “Any last words?”
You took a deep breath, “See you in hell.”
He chuckled. It was silent for a moment, air filled with anticipation. “Hope I don’t keep you waiting-“ He kicked that wooden box out from under you.
You felt gravity pulling you to the ground. Then the feeling of the rope tighten around your throat. Your ears picking up on the sounds of yelling and crying from your family. You had bobbed like a fish on a line. You put your hands to the rope on your neck. Struggling to breathe. Your body thrashing dangling from the tree. It wasn’t until you tilted your head back you got a little air. The noose didn’t seem to close all the way. Inside your mind yelled one thing, ‘go slack’. You slowly released your hands from the rope dangling with the rest of you. Soon after stopping any movement despite your body wanting to. You felt a pressure in the back of your eyes. The lack of sufficient oxygen making you feel like you were spinning. And the growing pain radiating around your neck was something you’ve never felt before. Like you were dying.
Negan had been talking throughout you struggling. But you hadn’t the mind to listen. It was Daryl’s sobs you recognized. He sounded like he was getting pulled away with the sounds of a heavy door slamming. A flash of light came through the bag on your head, click of a camera soon followed after. Negan talked again before you felt gravity pull you again. He had cut you down. You flopped to the floor like a sack of potatoes. You felt the wind get knocked out of you. Whatever wind you had left anyways. It took you a second before your first real breath came to you. But you try to remain still, to play possum.
You still remained there on the floor, yelling in your mind to stay awake. Coming up with anything to remain conscious like, math problems or names of your childhood pets. You had the feeling like you were on choppy water. Swaying back and forth on a boat. The deafening silence pulled you from your mind. Maybe you had died? But you decided you needed to move.
Group POV
Everyone was still after the saviors left. The first shuffling of gravel was Glenn moving to his wife after snapping out of the shock. His movement snapping everyone out of it to. Maggie clung to him while sobbing, emotionally and physically distressed. The sound of groaning and raspy noises made them all turn to you. It was Rick who spoke, “She turned…” You body propped up on hands and knees. They looked on before it was Carl moved to put you down, everyone else had even yet to move before him. Carl only got a few steps before you pulled the bag off your head.
Everyone froze again. Your fist clenching around the rope still around your neck. The chocking noises and tears sounds as you struggle with moving, “Holy shit she’s still alive!” Aaron had ran past Carl to then kneel beside you. Removing the rope from you revealed a line of black and purple around your neck. The rest had made their quick approach to you in disbelief. You were clawing at anyone next to you, you were in pain and didn't know who to act other then to wither. One hand still to your throat. Your eyes were blood red and the noise you made while attempting to breathe was high and liquidy.
Sasha had moved up behind you looping her arms behind yours, “Quick we need to get her to Hilltop! Maggie to!” Michonne moving for your legs to carry you to a truck the saviors left. Glenn helping Maggie into the passengers seat. Eugene began to list facts about being hanged like, 'it takes 10-20 minutes before a person died. You had been hung by a 'suspension hanging' but the height you fell from wasn't sufficient enough. The Saviors lack of knowledge had saved your life.' It was mostly a nervous habit to provide the information, a sort of coping. He was watching Rick and Aaron put Abraham's body in the back on the truck bed.
Maggie yelled to support your head to Sasha who you laid onto. You were still fighting unconscious, tears streaming down your red eyes. Glenn slipped into the drivers seat. Maggie speaking out the windows, "We got her. Get back to Alexandria. Plan to kick those monsters in the ass." Just like that they were off to hilltop.
The rest stood to see the car go off into the distance. Still shaken but the littlest bit more relieved you hadn't died in the worse way imageable in front of them. When they finally got back in the RV to go back home Rick just couldn't help but spot the noose on the ground from the review.
Daryl had no clue about you getting back up from that monstrous act.
Part 2
Feedback welcome and requests always open and encouraged!
(If you or a loved one are suffering and having thoughts of suicide please seek help. You are wanted and loved. Its cheesy but true when people say it gets better.)
#daryl dixon#daryl dixon x reader#daryl fanfiction#daryl imagines#daryl x female reader#daryl x reader#norman reedus#twd daryl#angst#fluff
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Fiending for Daryl x F!reader at the point where they're super domestic and sexually comfortable with each other. Like making jokes like "I'll do that thing you like if you take Dog for a walk ;)" and just being super teasing and playful with each other
lazy mornings w/ daryl
daryl x f!reader
wc: 1k
warnings: teasing, slight allusions to sex, mdni
a/n: omfg i adored this idea. thinking about daryl finally super comfortable with you, able to relax and just be himself is just🥹 i hope this is close to what you wanted!! i kinda got carried away in my imagination with this one lol. alsooo, i have a few other requests i’m working on, i promise i’m not skipping anyone’s i just take forever to write:,)
daryl would absolutely love to tease you. he just loved to see that little spark flash in your eyes, reminding him that you want him and he has you.
he was incredibly shy initiating anything sexual during the first couple years of your relationship. and still to this day it’s not often that he’ll outright vocalize his lust, but rather use his actions and subtle, playful remarks that’ll have you ready to pounce on him the first moment you get. the little sanctuary you call home is his favorite place in the world, and it was only ever you who got to see this goofy, mischievous side of him.
and he found he couldn’t help himself, watching you around the house, so casual and domesticated.
you’d play quiet music often on the little record player he’d found, hair tied up in some messy knot, loose shorts and a small t-shirt the only things adorning your soft skin as you read, or cooked, or whatever hobby was interesting you at the time. it brought out intense feelings inside of him, ones he never imagined he’d ever feel and it almost made him giddy. so happy he could provide that safety for you to simply be, and ravenously hungry to devour you whole any chance he got.
it must’ve been sometime in early may he figured. the sun was bright in the sky no later than 6am the past few weeks. mornings still brisk but afternoons hot and nearing swim-worthy. you both rose late that day, having spent a little extra time in bed where the light flooded through the cabin windows, glowing across fluffy sheets and warm skin, simply too soothing to move from right away. he always woke before you and always had to drink you in for a while, admiring how the sun danced through the strands of your wild hair across the pillows. your chest rose so fluently and calmly it made his own tight. he’d ingrain that picture deep in his memory; your vibrant, lively body something he’d protect till his last dying breath.
you had a leg propped outside the blankets, tossed close to his body subconsciously and he brought his fingers to the soft skin of your exposed thigh, painting invisible shapes. it only took a few minutes before you started mumbling sleepily as he dragged them upwards, towards your inner thigh.
“mmm, good morning,” you breathed softly, eyes still shut but a lazy smile gracing your features.
“mornin' sunshine,” he drawled, leaning down to press light kisses over his artwork. “sleep alright?”
“mhm, you?”
he nodded against your skin. he always slept well next to you, especially now he had you all to himself; your little hole in the woods providing much-needed peace and solitude after all the years without. just you, dog, and acres of tall green trees.
speaking of which, he noticed the door creaking open behind him as he placed more nips and kisses, paws padding across the wooden floors at the sound of your voices finally awake.
his tongue dragged up, grazing over the hem of your panties. your hips shifted beneath him as you moaned softly. “can we make it an agreement that you always wake me up like this?” you gasped when his hands joined in, massaging your plush hips with strong hands.
he snorted at that, “i already always do.”
“mm, right,” you muttered quickly distracted as your hands found purchase on his soft brown locks. your morning brain never failed to amuse him. you’d mutter nonsense half asleep, sure to barely remember when you fully came too.
his fingers were just slipping under the waistband when dog whimpered quietly behind you both. a smirk cast over his face, already hearing your whines of dismay at what he was about to do.
“think somebody needs a mornin' walk,” he pulled away with a kiss to the little bow at the hem. a low groan followed in suit just as he expected and he chuckled slightly.
“D… just a few more minutes.”
but he was already dragging his body off the mattress, grabbing a random strewn shirt and pulling it over his head.
“such a tease, dixon,” he heard from the bed, turning to see you propped up with a phony pout. the corners of his eyes crinkled in a grin at your state, hair wild from sleep, and cheeks flushed pink.
“how bout this,” he bargained, leaning back down to peck your ankle and slowly up your calf. “we take him out quickly, and then i’ll bring ya right back here and let ya have yer way with me… sound fair?”
he watched as you feigned contemplation.
“come on, look at that face,” he pointed to dog, who sat patiently at the foot of the bed, tail wagging.
“never thought i’d get cockblocked by a dog, but, alas,” you sighed, trying your best to cover the grin on your face.
daryl bent over, shielding dog's ears. “hey! he can hear ya y’know,” and there was so more hiding your grin, giggles escaping your lips in fit.
he’d never seen you move so fast after that, speedily throwing on a top that barely covered your ass and rushing to the front door.
“come on doggy boy! your dad and i have a date, we gotta make this quick,” you mused loudly through the house, dog chasing after you.
he couldn’t help but shake his head in laughter, following after his family blissfully. this was definitely his favorite place in the world.
sorry i’m so cheesy byyee❤️
#daryl dixon#norman reedus#the walking dead#daryl dixon smut#daryl dixon drabbles#daryl imagines#twd drabbles#daryl x reader#fem!reader#daryl smut#daryl dixon x reader#daryl twd#daryl dixon fanfiction#daryl fanfiction#twd daryl#the walking dead daryl#daryl dixion imagine#daryl x female reader#daryl drabbles#daryl x y/n#daryl x you#norman reedus smut#twd smut#twd daryl dixon#twd#twd fanfiction
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Merciless Beauty
Chapter 6: Through Life and After Death
❧ Pairing: Knight Daryl Dixon x Princess Reader
❧ Era: Medieval fantasy AU
❧ Pronouns: she/her
❧ Warnings: SMUT (18+)―missionary, body worship, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (do not endorse), loss of virginity, vaginal fingering, sir kink if you squint, "fucked dumb" (lol), language
❧ Word Count: 15k (I am so sorry.)
❧ Before You Read...
❧ Glossary
❧ In This Chapter: With the threat of Negan and the Saviors' imminent return heavy on your mind, you find solace in one last excursion outside the castle walls, with your knight. A chance discovery, and the knowledge that this may be your last moment alone with him, leads you to the logical conclusion of your longing.
❧ A/N: Babe, wake up. The knight and the princess are about to boink. Btw I wrote most of this while I’m on my period so that might explain a lot.
The night before last had haunted you, tormented you, until you saw Sir Negan’s arrogant face in every shadow in your bedroom, every darkened corner of the castle, and even every forlorn hollow amongst the foliage in the courtyard where you took your afternoon strolls.
Your own home became a house of horrors, and now, you could not stand to be there another minute.
Before that night, the castle was only a place of sadness for you, but now, it was a looming threat, with each rising and setting of the sun marking another day closer to the day he would come back. You couldn’t even bear to speak his name, so you didn’t. You couldn’t, as though somehow even using your voice to acknowledge his existence was giving him more power. And yet, it was impossible to avoid the plague of unease that the man had infected you with.
Afterall, your situation was dire, no matter what transpired in the coming days leading up to his return. If your father decided to appease Negan, the best option for the survival of the kingdom, it would mean you’d be given to him willingly, taken to the Sanctuary to be his wife. If your father refused to give you to him, you’d be taken by force, and there was no way that Alexandria’s now weakened defenses could fight the Saviors from taking you―they were going to take you, no matter what. There was no outcome that would be in your favor. You were going to be Negan’s now, and you had to accept it.
But you didn’t.
Late last night, the king had left Alexandria in the hopes of making alliances with neighboring kingdoms against the Saviors in a last ditch effort to fight them. It was a noble pursuit, but worthless. Even with the help of the other provinces, the Saviors had weakened those kingdoms as well. Their armories were ransacked, and their numbers were increasingly dwindling. Still, you took advantage of your father’s absence―for one last excursion outside the walls before you’d surely be ripped away from your home in a matter of days.
It was the easiest breakout yet, given the lack of guards roaming the corridors of the castle. The journey through the tunnel was quiet, none of the usual talk of knighthood or herbalism or the knight’s stories of his adventures in exotic, faraway lands. It wasn’t until the meadow when you asked Sir Daryl to treat this day just the same as the others―as if nothing had changed, and this wasn’t your last journey with him.
And so, the knight being simply unable to refuse your wishes, he buried his sorrows to speak of things that pleased you, and you continued regaling him with quotes from your favorite tales and poems, all of which he listened to attentively, pulling Phantom’s reins as you both approached the familiar little cottage, its new outer walls now the first thing you saw.
It was only recently that Sir Daryl had commissioned a mason to build the protective border round the little house, an additional safety precaution to keep the walkers out, he said. Sometimes, you wondered if he’d had that built just for you to be safe, but perhaps that was a self-centered thought. The notion still produced a fluttering feeling in your abdomen, one that you became accustomed to since you first felt them with him. It was the most pleasant feeling you’d ever had, and no matter how you experimented to see if any other source of happiness could replicate that feeling, you always failed.
The sun was setting now, the usual ending to the usual day out, only now, the knight had offered to prepare you a real supper, not just the usual loaves of bread and rosemary butter. This eve, he was set on something special―venison he’d hunted himself just days prior, accompanied by vegetables you’d collected from the cottage garden, many of which you’d never even tried before. “Peasants’ grub” the nobles called them, but they were simple potatoes, onions, cabbages, leeks, carrots… Everything you’d need for a good stew.
But Daryl would not let you lift a finger, relegating you to sitting upon one of the straw-filled pillows strewn about on the floor, just a handful of feet from the warm lit hearth, where Daryl stood laboring over a steaming pot.
“Are you sure you do not need any help?” you peeped, though you and he both knew that you had less skill in cooking than him. In fact, you’d never even cut a vegetable before today. That was simply not your responsibility.
He looked at you through curling smoke, his eyebrow raised at the notion. “Told ya I’d do it. Isn’t much left to do, anyway… Just gotta let it cook a bit more.”
With your posture as straight and perfect as ever, you nodded and wrapped the blanket he always gave you tighter around your body. At this point, it smelled distinctly of your sweet perfume. “Thank you again, Daryl. I know… I know this is not the most ideal time to leave the castle, but I could not stand to be there another second. I swear I can still smell that man’s stench.”
Daryl swallowed hard before clearing his throat, disturbed by the very thought of him, the man who he knew he could not stop from taking you, but he’d do anything in his power to prevent it from happening.
He’d thought of many things, in fact. He hadn’t slept in two nights, the time spent instead thinking of ways to stop Negan, but they all had their weaknesses. Of course, his first thought was to hide you, to take you away from the castle and keep you somewhere else, but that wouldn’t stop the Saviors from pillaging Alexandria, from killing more people. The one thing keeping Negan from destroying the kingdom was you, and even then, it was still uncertain.
And killing Negan and enough of the Saviors to render them powerless was next to impossible. Alexandria was a small kingdom anyway, and now it had dwindled down to almost the size of a large village, with hardly any defenses or military-trained citizens to even stand a chance against an army of the Saviors’ size. The situation was hopeless, and he hated that all he could do was wait.
“But it’s nice to be here,” you said. “I like it here… With you.”
He met your sweet smile with a boyishly lopsided one. The man was quite a bit older than you, but he had a youthfulness about him you couldn’t quite place. Perhaps it was in his eyes, which glimmered just as brightly as you’d imagined they had when he was closer to your own age. His face was weathered, but mostly, he was very handsome to you, with a softness to his features that mesmerized you at times.
Particularly, you’d developed a fascination with his lips, the way they moved. He had a habit of folding in his lower lip and chewing on it, especially when deep in thought. Sometimes he’d purse them to the side when he was frustrated, or the top lip would snarl a bit when he killed a walker. You’d become attuned to the patterns of his smiles, grins, and smirks. Your favorites were the ones like this, uneven and slightly bashful, as though you’d said something that flattered him.
You’d been flattering him a lot more lately, you realized. Perhaps your attraction to him was becoming more and more difficult to hide. Strangely, you did not feel the usual urge to combat it. Maybe it was the particular kind of heat from the hearth that evening or the way his hair was pinned behind his ears to keep it out of his way as he cooked, but the fluttery feeling in your abdomen was more persistent than usual, more continuous. At some point, you knew it would be impossible to hold back, but you had to.
“I like being with you, too,” he replied, sprinkling some freshly ground herbs into the cast iron pot. “I wish I could…” He trailed off, stopping his train of thought before he spoke improperly in front of you.
“Could what?”
Gut Negan ‘fore he lays another finger on you. “Nothin’.”
You huffed in amusement at his shyness. “Keeping secrets from your princess,” you teased with a wiggling brow and a squint of faux offense. “That is not very knightly behavior, sir.”
My princess, he thought. Mine.
He shook his head with a huff, ridding himself of his intrusive thoughts. “Wish I could… do somethin’ for you, s’all.”
“Oh, Daryl,” you said. “You’ve already done so much for me. There’s nothing you could do… It is in my father’s hands. Well, it is in Negan’s hands, really.”
“But it shouldn’t be like that.”
“No, it shouldn’t, but it’s how it is, no matter what. Even if Sir Negan had no interest in me, my father would expect me to marry a noble, or a prince or king from some other kingdom. He’s a good father, but he is still a king. Really, I am quite lucky he has not married me off yet. Many princesses marry men they do not love. My mother, her marriage to my father was arranged. Somehow, it worked. They grew to love each other very much. I do not believe I could ever love Sir Negan, though… Not ever. He is evil.”
I won’t let him take you, he wanted to say, but he knew that would be an empty promise. Tonight, for all he knew, could’ve been one of the last nights he’d ever see you again. One thing was certain, this was going to be the last time he took you outside the castle. The last time he could truly be alone with you. And yet, he could not work up the courage to tell you how he felt, how he cherished you much more than he should’ve, how he believed he loved you.
“Wish I could take you away from here,” he said, his lips moving faster than his brain could process his words. “Wish you could stay here, and Negan would never find you.” When his rationality caught up with him, he cleared his throat and shook his head in an attempt to take back what he just said, even though he meant every word.
“I do, too,” you said, surprising him a bit. “I wish I could, but then what would Negan do? He’d destroy Alexandria. He’d kill my people… He might even kill my father. I couldn’t let that happen. No, I have to face it. There’s nothing anyone can do, Daryl, though I appreciate how much you care about my safety.”
I love you.
Instead of voicing his thought, he eyed the weakening fire of the hearth, its flame no longer adequately heating the bottom of the pot. “I’m sworn to protect you,” he said. “As your knight.” He felt your soft gaze caressing his face like an invisible hand, though he tried to remain nonchalant as he poked at the fire. “If I let you get taken against your will, I’m not protecting you.”
That was almost amusing to you, as Daryl seemed to rarely care about performing his official knightly duties. When it came to you, though, he took his job quite seriously. In fact, you began to wonder if he cared more about protecting you than his own lord to whom he owed fealty. What he owed to you meant much more than mere feudalism, though. What he owed to you was his mind, body, and soul.
“And I am sworn to protect my kingdom. If I run away, I am endangering my kingdom.”
That all being said, the idea of Daryl taking you far away from all your troubles was dangerously tempting, to the point that you forgot to breathe for a moment, until it came back to you in the form of a heavy swallowing of air.
“I do not want anyone else to die,” you continued. “I… certainly do not want you to die fighting for me, Daryl, though I am so very grateful for everything you’ve done for me. In truth, I don’t think I have ever felt as close to someone as I feel with you.”
There was more you wished to say, and it seemed as though Daryl had something on the tip of his tongue, but once again, he held himself back, despite every cell in his body screaming out to you professions of love and adoration that had only grown stronger with each passing moment he’d known you. With every way he’d begun to see you for who you were, he fell harder in love. With every angle of you he feasted upon with starving eyes that tore themselves away despite their hunger, he grew more desperate, more bereft of your warm, soft, supple body that he dreamed of cherishing and worshipping every waking moment of everyday.
God, he couldn’t keep you from his mind, your presence overwhelming and intoxicating and mesmerizing, even in this moment when your voice spoke so innocently and with the dignity and poise of a princess. That’s what you were, he had to remember—a princess. He was a knight. He needed to know his place… Though it was becoming increasingly harder to do so.
With the heady air of silence meandering between you in the tiny hovel, Daryl concentrated on rousing the flame of the hearth, but there was nothing he could do to build it up again without collecting more firewood to fuel it. It was the perfect moment to excuse himself and go out to gather tinder while he collected himself, before he did or said something… improper.
In fact, he swore that if he opened his mouth now, he’d wax poetic about all the sinful thoughts he’d tried to keep at bay. Only your voice stopped him from heading out without an explanation.
“Where are you going, knight?”
He palmed at his forehead with a huff, remembering that he was in a social situation, with a sacred woman he cared for too tenderly. He couldn’t just leave you without saying what he was doing, after all.
“Hearth needs more tinder,” he spoke over his shoulder as he donned his black wool cloak. “I won’t be far, just at the splitting log right outside.”
“I shall stir the stew,” you said dutifully, rising elegantly from your seat, with delicate handfuls of your dress to lift it as you crossed to the hearth.
“Don’t poison it,” the knight replied, to which you flashed him a smirk.
“Why ever would I do such a thing? That would be foolish, anyway. I am going to eat the stew, too.” He turned to look your way. It was a mistake. He got lost in your face, your cheeks high and full with your smile, and your eyes sparkling with the reflection of the dying fire. “Hurry along, now,” you said, your voice low now, almost husky. “You mustn’t keep me waiting.”
You did not intend the phrase to sound… suggestive, but perhaps your emotions were beginning to cloud your better judgment, and now every word you spoke betrayed you.
“I won’t,” he replied, a barely audible crack in his voice, though you chalked it up to his already raspy way of speaking. “Be right back.”
Before leaving, he took up the splitting maul he kept beside the door, a burst of cold from the spring night air chilling you for a moment as the door swung shut. Absent-mindedly, you found yourself studying the stew as you stirred it. You tilted your head in amused curiosity at the simple, yet appetizing, concoction. Whatever mix of herbs Daryl had thrown together had created a pleasant kind of aroma that filled the small one-room cottage with a comforting warmth.
A mischievous grin spread across your face as you thought to taste a bit of the stew before Daryl came back. Afterall, it couldn’t hurt to get a small sampling. Careful to get a little bit of everything in your spoonful, you purposefully sought out a large chunk of perfectly cooked-through venison. Raising the large wooden spoon to your pursed lips, you tasted the warm soup, letting it sit on your tongue for a few thoughtful moments as you attempted to study every flavor and texture.
Though the stew was undoubtedly delicious, it was still missing something. You’d seen Daryl sprinkle several different herbs and spices, but it lacked the savory, peppery taste of one of your favorite herbs: sage.
There was a tall wooden pantry across the room, where Daryl had stored most of his dry ingredients. You quickly crossed to the cabinet, your eyes looking back every few moments to keep an eye on the rolling boil of the stew. The pantry doors opened with a creak, you biting your lip and furrowing your brow as you scanned the dim shelves for the dried herb you sought. Daryl had an impressive selection of both culinary and medicinal ingredients, each jarred in their own glasses with a label of faded paper glued to its side, indicating the ingredients’ names. You’d pushed back several jars, all of which weren’t the dried sage you were looking for.
He had everything—rosemary, saffron, ginger, grains of paradise, cloves, parsley, cinnamon, spikenard, alecost, thyme, southernwood… Everything but sage. “Good heavens, sage cannot be that difficult to come by, can it?” you spoke to yourself. “Sage… Sage…” You began to impatiently rearrange the jars, rereading each one a few times to ensure you weren’t going mad, though it began to feel like it. “How could he not have—”
You’d reached the back of the dusty old shelf, where no more pesky jars of spices and herbs could taunt you. Instead, a lone small chest of plain cedarwood sat undisturbed against the back wall of the cupboard. It wouldn’t have fazed you, as you’d most logically assume it was just another container for some special exotic spice, but what had silenced you and your mumbled self-ramblings was the chain of iridescent white pearls that poured out from the little chest, rendering the lid slightly ajar, but just open enough for your to catch a brief sparkle twinkling in the darkness.
And those pearls… You recognized them.
They weren’t cheap freshwater pearls, the kind you could get from any silver-tongued peddler on the street in Alexandria’s market district. No, they were distinctive… Their luster and nearly perfect roundness betraying their expensive nature. Akoya pearls, you recalled the explorer saying. It was not long before the Scourge broke out, when you were just fifteen. The only jewels you had kept now were those inherited from your mother or family heirlooms. The pearls were beautiful, and they were important to you, but they were sacrifices you had made in the name of gratitude for the knight’s kindness.
You gave them to him, but under the impression that he’d sell them.
Why would he keep this?
But it wasn’t just one necklace, no. The faint glimmer of light from deep within the box enticed you, leading you to lift the lid, despite your high-society etiquette telling you that snooping around in other people’s things was hardly becoming behavior. You believed, though, that you had a right to see. That was once your necklace, after all.
There was more, just as you’d suspected. The box was brimming with a colorful assortment of precious jewels from your collection, all of which you’d had distinct memories of gifting to the knight after each excursion he’d accompanied you on. Pulling the box forward, you stared wide-eyed as you rummaged through, recognizing each and every piece—the pair of pearl and amethyst earrings, the ruby and silver brooch, the gilded ring of jade with an intricate claw setting, the red coral rosary given to you at your first Holy Communion, the repoussé chaplet set with refined diamonds and sapphires… Each trinket was unique, and undeniably yours.
There were a few possible explanations you could think of. The first explanation, and the most logical, was that Sir Daryl was saving your jewels for a rainy day, intent on selling them all together for a larger sum. The second, and the most amusing to you, was that he was wearing the jewelry himself, and he was hiding them to spare himself the embarrassment. The third, and the most worrisome, was that there was a lady he was intent upon giving your jewelry to, or at least that he was keeping the jewels in the event that he would find a lady to woo. This thought made your heart race, but not in the way it usually did when the knight crossed your mind.
But all these explanations were useless to you. There was no way of knowing now exactly why he kept your jewelry. Perhaps it meant nothing at all, but you couldn’t let it go. You needed to know, otherwise you’d never think clearly again. Without your sage, you replaced the chest and its contents to close the cupboard and return to the boiling pot, though not without a nervous pitter patter in your chest.
You were startled from your thoughts with a jump and a gasp when the knight kicked open the front door, a pile of freshly cut logs in his arms. He cursed himself for his lack of grace.
“Y’all right?” he asked, keeping a concerned eye on you as he crossed to the hearth to prepare the fire.
“Fine,” you replied with a nod. “Stew’s ready, I think.”
He furrowed his brow at that statement, then responded with a slight chuckle to his voice. “How do you know?”
“I tasted it,” you said. “It’s ready.”
“Yes, your highness,” he replied with a huff, amused by your certainty.
At length, he procured two wooden bowls and two silver spoons, the both of you settling for casual seating in front of the hearth, sitting upon the floor cushions with criss-crossed legs and a strange silence between you. Silences like this were uncommon. Of course, whenever it was quiet between you, there was always this presence of heaviness, as though something needed to be said by one of you, or both, but right now, there was no comfort to it. Now, the weight had become so unbearable that there would be no comfort to this usually pleasant silence until one of you spoke.
And it had to be you. You were the one who had seen the chest, who knew now that Daryl kept all those payments for whatever reason instead of cashing them in. You had to know why, there was no other way around it.
You only hoped he wouldn’t resent you for it.
“Daryl?” You let your spoon clink against the side of the wooden bowl as you relished the recent aftertaste of the savory soup. “May I ask you something?”
He was hoping you would. He’d spent enough time with you, had known all your habits and quirks and idiosyncrasies, that he knew when there was something on your mind. Given the weight of this silence, it must’ve been important.
“Yeah.” He wiped his lips with the sleeve of his off-white chemise. You took extra care not to become distracted by the crop of pale brown, wiry chest hairs just barely visible at his loosely laced up collar.
Without even noticing, you licked your lips as you thought of what to say, hoping he wouldn’t be offended. Afterall, you’d gone snooping about in his pantry. Still, you believed you had a right to know.
To focus on your words, you set your near-empty bowl on the stone edge of the hearth. You straightened to sit up taller, your hands carefully folded in your lap. You looked like the picture of a princess, except in your eyes. They were downturned, as you couldn’t bear to look him in the eye in case your actions were misconstrued as mischief. “When you were out chopping wood,” you began with a small nervous croak in your voice, “I… Well, I tried the stew, as I said, but I thought it could use some sage, you see, and so I—I looked in your pantry.”
It was then that the knight began to choke on a chunk of venison, having swallowed it too soon with the realization that you could’ve seen his jewelry box, the one he hid because of his embarrassment to admit that he kept those jewels because they were yours. No practical reason at all, just the thought of you, something part of you belonging to him. It was silly, he knew that, but to him, there was a comfort in having those trinkets. If he’d sold them, all he’d have would be measly bits of dirty metal that had been in thousands of different hands and would be in a thousand more. Those jewels were worth more than that. They were once yours. As far as he was concerned, they were still yours.
The man turned away from you, covering his mouth with the inside of his elbow as he coughed to help the meat pass down his throat. You leaned forward, reaching your hand out to touch his shoulder. “Are you all right?”
“Mhm,” he mumbled between his coughs. “Just… just…”
“Here,” you said, scooting closer to hand him a tankard of water. He waved you off, but he was still hunched over to the side and refusing to face you, both as a result of his embarrassment and his coughing fit. You huffed and spoke more harshly now. “Daryl.”
He knew that voice well enough now to know you were serious. He turned towards you slowly, taking the cup from your hands as he still sputtered our grunts between coughs. “Th—thanks.”
He choked a bit more on the water now, but only because he felt your hand soothing his back in slow, languid, yet careful, movements. “There…” Your voice was smooth and velvety, like sweet whipped cream. With each pass of your hand, you felt the silk fabric of his shirt pucker against your palm. The heat of his body drew you closer subconsciously, til you felt his strong, hard shoulder nearly digging into your chest. Despite your attempt to pull away, it felt too good to rid yourself of his closeness. “Better?”
With the delicate pressure of your hand caressing him, of course he felt better. He grunted in acknowledgement as he nodded, setting the tankard on the floor beside him. “Yeah… Please forgive me.”
You shook your head and laughed at that. “For what? Swallowing your food too fast?”
He felt like a blubbering fool, wiping his lips and chuckling under his breath to match your contagious giggles. But then, with a diminuendo of laughter, he realized he’d interrupted you, and he needed to know now what you were going to say, just in case you did see his hidden treasure. Well, your hidden treasure.
“For interrupting you,” he said. “You were sayin’ something… D’ya find the sage?”
He knew full well there was no sage in that pantry. He’d run out just a few days prior.
“Oh,” you sighed. “Well, no, I…”
You’d made the grave mistake of lifting your wide eyes to meet his, though the both of you were trying to hide your gaze from one another. It was inevitable that they would meet at some point this evening, but now that they had, you could not bear to look away, neither could he. For several moments, you could not even blink for fear of missing him and his deep, almost dark blue eyes, filled with the mystery of something nearly inscrutable, but not impossible to figure out. In fact, the more you looked, you swore you got closer to finding the answers to all the questions in his eyes.
“Daryl,” you started again, this time holding his gaze with a nervous, fluttering blink of your curled eyelashes. “Why… Why have you not sold the jewelry I paid you with?”
There were many replies he could have made, but the only one that was remotely coherent was the one with the fewest number of words: Because I love you.
Several heavy moments passed in silence, with only the crackling of the now roaring hearthfire filling the space where words might’ve existed if only he had the courage to speak without thinking first in this moment. This, however, was a delicate situation, and he could not face it with the usual impulsivity and carelessness that he might’ve had in other situations.
There was a contradictory sense of both a need to profess his love to you and a need to brush it off with some lie, but how could he lie to you, his sweet princess? You were worth so much more than that to him, so much more than a paltry lie, but you were also worth more than every jewel in that box.
“You, uh… You saw that?”
Your shoulders shrugged as you smiled bashfully. Daryl’s cheeks seemed to heat up, too. “I did. I know I had no right to look, but with the gold those jewels are worth, you could purchase your own manor and petition to become a lord. My father would happily grant you that position, I’m sure. You would not have to be a vassal. Of course, it is your property to do with as you wish, but I cannot help but wonder why.”
Titles and property were of no consequence to Daryl. They never meant much. He grew up with next to nothing, raised by poor merchants who struggled to buy a single loaf of bread. Perhaps one would think that growing up so poor would make him value money, but it was quite the opposite. It made him hate it, how it could make or break a man. No, what you gave to him was worth so much more.
“I—” He paused to think more thoroughly about what he was to say, but there was no way around it. He had to say it. “I couldn’t get rid of them. Couldn’t just give ‘em to somebody else.”
Though his words seemed sentimental, his eyes still strayed from you. Leaning forward, your heart aching with a desperate hope, you tried to coerce his eyes to meet yours. Your hand still traced invisible shapes across the broad expanse of his back.
“Why?” You wondered if perhaps your secret fourth explanation had been correct. The more he stalled, you began to realize that it was. “Daryl…” Your other hand lifted cautiously, its movements foreign to you as your fingers delicately cradled his chin, then brought his head up until those soft, deep blue eyes greeted you. Perhaps you were torturing him, begging him to admit his feelings despite his fear, but you needed his words. That was all you’d need. You smiled to comfort him as you spoke. “Why could you not bear to sell my jewels?”
Your touch was in two places now—his back and his chin. Both points of contact were burning, a fire that spread through him and touched him in places he didn’t dare even think of at this moment. Your touch was innocent, it had to be. He wouldn’t let himself believe otherwise. His task was to keep you safe, to never let harm come your way. Indulging in his desires, no matter how much he wanted to, would only take advantage of the trust you and your father had in him. But, oh… The way your chest heaved against his shoulder. You were so close. So incredibly close. Almost as close as he’d imagined, in his darkened bedroom where his sordid thoughts took root. Even his dreams were full of visions of you, hazy and ethereal, like you were made of clouds. So soft, so warm.
“Daryl?” you pressed again. “Won’t you answer me, please?”
“It’s wrong,” he said quickly. “It’s all wrong.”
“No, it is not.”
“I just couldn’t… Couldn’t give part of you away.”
“Part of me?”
“Part of you,” he repeated. “Someone else, with a part of you… I can’t let anyone else have you. Those things belonged to you, so they’re precious to me. You’re precious to me.”
There. That was enough. Enough for you to know the truth, enough for you to lean even closer, your eyes nearly closed despite a sliver of vision focused on his lips, slightly agape and quivering. With your hand still holding his chin, you pulled him closer, too, his body and mind paralyzed for a moment, rendered helpless by you.
But for a moment, when your lips were just an inch or two from his, you fluttered your eyes open to meet his. “My knight,” you whispered, the soft wind of your breath tickling his aching lips. “Kiss me.”
“I—I can’t.”
“Yes, you can…” Just like that, you spoke in your most regal tone of authority, the same you’d used to threaten to have Negan executed, though this time, a little more sultry. “I am your princess, and you will do as I say, knight.”
Yes, your highness.
With a burst of desperation rising up in his abdomen, he leaned forward to close the gap between you, not just at your lips, but at every part of you. His hands grasped hard at your waist, pulling you nearly onto his lap. Your chest was pressed so tight against his that you gasped for breath from his mouth as he kissed you, heavy breaths exhaling from his nostrils like a wild animal just freed from its cage.
You felt one hand wildly rise up your back and tangle in your hair, loosening the lone braid at the back of your head, until cascades of hair hung freely over your shoulders and back. Your hands had no choice but to cling tight to his shoulders as his hands explored you to the extent he would allow himself, though it felt so wonderful that you wished he’d unrestrain himself even more. Just when you started to think he was becoming more unhindered, his hand slowly melting down your lower back and inching closer to your bottom, he stopped himself.
His mouth tore away from you, the cold of the night air stinging your moistened lips as they trembled, and you felt your throat already begin to swallow back a lump. “What is it?”
His hands were still on you, but he panted as he looked worryingly at you, his head shaking as if to reprimand himself, though he couldn’t hide his blown out pupils and the increasingly noticeable hardness of his lap. Still, you feared he’d deny you.
“I can’t control myself,” he said. “If we… kept goin’…”
“I want to keep going,” you said. Your hands moved to grasp at his shirt collar, where your fingers began to undo his lace. “I want whatever you would do.”
“You don’t know what you want,” he said. “You don’t want me, princess.”
“I do want you, knight.”
“You can’t. I can’t. If your father—”
“I love you.”
He fell silent. Scared. Not of your words, but of himself, of what hearing those words in your voice did to him. They ignited a deeper, inextinguishable fire.
“Don’t say what ya don’t mean, milady.”
A single shiny tear glimmered as it rolled down your soft rouged cheek, settling into the corner of your mouth. You weren’t sure exactly why you began to cry. Perhaps it was the idea of rejection, or the thought of Sir Negan taking you away before promising yourself to the only man you’d ever cared for, but one thing was certain: your love for him was strong enough to bring tears to your eyes.
“I do not say things I do not mean, Sir Daryl. When I say I love you, I am speaking from my heart, and my heart would not lead me astray. I love you, and that is the truth.”
And it was his truth, too. Now, your words were enough to convince him.
He lowered his eyes, his lips turned stern. It was an earnest, serious gaze. He said what he’d been thinking for months, what he would never stop thinking no matter what. He would always love you. He would always do anything for you. It was time he made it known. “I love you.”
It was simple when he said it, but you knew it to be true by the way his hands clung tighter to your waist. Hesitantly, he raised his right hand, allowing the back of it to caress your cheek. His touch was rough, but only because of his worn skin. The way he moved was soft, gentle, sweet. Even in his evident lust, he still touched you with the innocence of a white daisy’s petals brushing against your skin.
Hesitantly, he let his lips ghost your other cheek as you exhaled a heavy breath against his neck. “Daryl,” you whispered. He kissed your skin, his lips spread open and tongue just barely stretching out to tickle you. As he moved his mouth lower, dragging sloppy kisses along your jawline, his arms wrapped fully around you, tugging you against him. Your hands held tight to his shoulder blades, and you felt them flex and jolt with each movement he made as his lips met yours again. This time, his tongue breached the entrance to your mouth, finding yours and almost attacking it. In your inexperience, you only gasped against his lips, then jutted out your own tongue in an attempt to keep up with him.
“Daryl,” you panted between his kisses. He grunted under his breath, still indulging in your taste. With your fingers on his cheeks, you pulled back for a moment, looking into his darkened eyes. You’d never seen his eyes like that before. It almost frightened you, but mostly, it only made you realize exactly what you wanted. “I want you to take my maidenhead.”
Of course, he wanted to. It wasn’t a question of whether or not he wanted to, it was a question of whether or not he should, and he knew he shouldn’t. He knew such a thing was against his code, perhaps the most egregious way to break it. The law of chivalry held all knights to a certain standard, a law that governed their every action. Sleeping with the daughter of the king he served, much less taking her virginity, would certainly be cause for execution.
“I can’t,” he said, though his eyes portrayed another answer. “You know I can’t.” You shook your head, opening your mouth to latch onto his jawline, kissing him as he’d kissed you. He muttered your name, though he could not tear you away, your sweet lips wetting his skin as your hand combed through his hair. “It would…”
Your hand lowered to his chest, grasping at his bare skin underneath his chemise. Your fingers seemed to tremble, your body not knowing what to do without his guidance. He grasped at your hand, though he did not push you away. He kept it there, keeping it steady. He turned to face your lips, and they trembled, too. To steady them, he raised his thumb to your plump bottom lip, moving it gently side to side. It felt like sacrilege to touch you like this, but it also felt like the most holy, sacred kind of worship.
“It would be wrong. I’m not your husband. It would be against… Against my code of chivalry.”
It nearly made you laugh. “You’ve already disobeyed my father and taken me outside the castle walls into walker-infested woods. You’ve done a hundred things that broke your code.”
Leaning ever closer, you pressed your soft chest against his firm one, the heat rising between your bodies almost as strong as the roaring hearthfire that painted his face in rich, warm burnt oranges and browns. The smile on your face curled delicately as you brushed aside the curtains of his hair till they were pinned behind his ears. In this light, his face was both worn yet youthful, like an old painting of a young man.
In a hushed, honeyed voice, you whispered against his cheek, “What’s one more?” Innocent lips coated with that floral musky balm grazed his stubbly cheek. It was not scratchy, though, it was soft and ticklish, like how your fingers felt on his chest.
For a long, torturous moment, he only held you close, his grip still tight on your waist. He leaned into your kiss, though he still was trying to cling to the last thread of chivalrous honor he had within him. That rope was threadbare, though, with only a fiber or two to hold on to, and the more your lips grazed his skin, trailing to his neck in clumsy, inexperienced movements, you felt his hand return to your hair to tangle itself in your now tousled locks.
The low, dulcet moan escaping your lips marked the moment the tether snapped, and no longer could he say he had any respect for a code of conduct that left him bereft of your body and the pleasure he could give you, as your servant, your escort, your knight.
With a throaty grunt, he took your mouth in his, devouring it much more deeply than he had before. There was no cautiousness now in his embrace, his hands lowering to cup both sides of your bottom as he lifted you more fully to his lap, with his legs outstretched underneath you.
Both of you became engulfed in a tangle of limbs, furiously clawing at each other like you were both tearing at your own flesh to escape from its confines. Yourself now made taller than him as you sat upon his lap, you parted from his lips for a moment to look down at him, panting and lips shiny from your saliva, and made plump and red by his impassioned kiss.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said, looking up at you with hazy, dark eyes. Indeed, you were the most beautiful sight he’d ever had the chance to behold. Sometimes, he did not even think himself worthy to utter your name, or to have his name uttered by you… You in your sweetness and kindness and sensitivity and grace and—
Your small laugh reawakened him. How dare he even begin to wax poetic about you in his own head when you were in his arms now, your hands on his shoulders and your chest heaving with each beautiful breath. To know you were so alive, warm and trembling in his strong arms, safe and protected… That was the greatest pleasure of all.
And yet, the carnal desire for you was quick to overwhelm him. He squeezed you tighter before leaning forward, taking you with him. “Mm!” you laughed against his lips as he kissed you.
How he could be so gentle and yet so strong you did not know. With your back arched and your head cradled by his hands, you felt the support of your floor pillow underneath you, your legs now wrapped around his waist.
Propping himself up by his arms to look at you, he gazed in awe, your hair sprawled out from your head in every which way like an angel’s halo made from a sunburst. Where your gown of sage green silk brocade met your breasts, he let his gaze linger. Finally. Without the worries of being improper, he could admire the gentle, supple curves of your décolletage.
And now your gown sank down to your upper thighs, exposing much more skin than he’d ever seen—or felt. He sat up straight, his hand gently petting your soft bare calf, then moving down slowly, torturously, to touch your thigh.
Never had you been touched like this. Not even by yourself. In fact, you felt rather foolish, stiffening a bit as your eyes widened the more he moved his hand, now lifting up the rest of your skirt.
“Daryl…” you all but whined, a moan somewhere between a begging lust and a nervous embarrassment. “I know nothing,” you said simply. “I—I—”
Your own gasp cut short your stuttering admission. “Oh.”
All you could feel was his hand cupping your mound, now completely exposed without the cover of your gown.
He couldn’t tear his eyes away, each fold and crevice and speckling of your dainty hairs that matched perfectly the locks on your head. In fact, he ran his fingers through the little forest above your womanhood. It was soft, warm, untouched until now.
“You’re beautiful,” he spoke again. “Very… royal.”
“Royal?”
He laughed under his breath, biting his lip as he trailed his pointer finger around your lips, tickling you as you writhed a little. “Everything about you,” he said. “Even this… So perfect and clean and royal.”
Flushed with rose-tinted clouds of excitement and shyness, you rolled your shoulders as you watched him lick his pretty pink lips, over and over. “Have you seen many women like this, sir?”
He returned his gaze to yours with a raised, mischievous brow. Sir had never sounded so intoxicating as it did now. “None as sweet and virtuous as you.”
Indeed, he slightly feared his first movements towards intercourse. Never before had he taken a maiden’s virginity, and he was sure he’d hurt you if he was too hasty. He would have to tread carefully, though the subtle glisten of your entrance beckoned him, and those soft, intricate folds of supple flesh sparked a fire in him he’d never felt before. This was the image he’d dreamed of—your untouched womanhood naked before him, just waiting for him to release you from the bonds of chastity forevermore.
And, oh, that moan, of which he had only gotten a sampling of. He needed more, he needed to be drowned in that sound. He needed to be the one who showed you the carnal pleasure of love, and to experience it himself, too. It would be the most potent kind of intimacy, and he wanted the both of you to be consumed by it. Together.
All he could think of, all he wanted to do, was get a mouthful of you. Drink from the fountain that was your body.
“Can I… taste you?”
A genuine expression of innocent confusion spread across your face. “Kiss me?” Your eyes fluttered shut as your lips gently pursed, prepared to receive his sweet kiss.
“Nah, not like that,” he said, a subtle laugh under his low, gruff voice. Two calloused fingertips grazed the top junction of your lips, where an almost overwhelming tingle spread through you. Then, his fingers moved apart as they descended slowly, spreading you open. The reddish, taught flesh seemed to pulse on its own accord as your breath shuddered and your eyes widened at the strange feeling. “Here. I wanna taste you here.”
Finally understanding, and yet not understanding at all, you looked up at him with a furrowed look of concern. “Why? Is that not… unsanitary?”
An amused grin spread across his face. “Looks clean to me… They bathe you good, my princess.”
His princess. Oh, that sent an entirely new shiver through you.
But only with your permission would he do such a thing. Only with your word would he let his common tongue invade your royal maidenhead.
So he’d beg for it, like he knew he should.
“Please,” he said, voice sweeter and softer than you’d ever heard. He even lowered himself, his lips hovering above your navel as he looked up at you with those crystal clear eyes. “Please, your highness… I will be gentle.” His hands held firm to your thighs, rubbing them softly, up and down. When his lips met your abdomen, just below your navel, you sighed unexpectedly, and he could feel your heat.
“I’ll beg for it.” The reverberations of his rough voice tickled your lower stomach. He dragged his lips progressively lower, to where the hairs upon your mound began. A trail of kisses began to form between each mumbled plea.
“I’ll beg to taste you…” Kiss. “Lick you…” Kiss. “I’m beggin’…” Kiss. “Let me taste how perfect my sweet princess is.”
Though you were still puzzled by his desire to kiss you there, you decided to oblige, especially as the strange tickly feeling became more and more intense with each kiss he bestowed upon your mound. Somehow, his begging even excited you.
“Yes,” you sighed. Blindly, you reached for him, your hands tangling in his chestnut colored hair, strands messy and wild. The ends of those locks tickled your skin as they hung around his face, dragging with each movement of his mouth downwards. “You may taste me… Though I do not understand why you want to, sir.” You laughed as you looked down at him, kissing the soft little hairs you always found to be unsightly, but it was not in vogue to shave, of course. At least, not for a lady of your status. He seemed to like it, though. “You are rather strange,” you teased. “Do you think I will taste nice?”
“Know you will,” he said, and you watched as he wetted his fingers with his tongue, then circled them over your now puffy lips.
With a little gasp, you giggled girlishly at his touch. It was all so strange to you, but it felt nice. You’d had no idea this part of you was so sensitive, as you’d never bothered to touch it besides your daily baths. Even then, you hardly touched yourself only to clean, and when you felt an unfamiliar tingle as you’d slide your wet hand between those little folds of sensitive skin, you’d quickly pull away. All you knew of that part of you was that it was for your future husband, and you’d never cared much for trying to find one, especially since the world was the way it was.
Now, you could only dream of a husband like him, the knight who lowered himself once more, slotting his head between your bare thighs. His hands holding them, he coerced your legs to spread wider, allowing that crevice to widen and open the small fleshy hole. He could already tell you’d never even touched yourself, your entrance half-obstructed by a small stretch of skin-colored tissue—your maidenhead.
He’d not touch that for now, instead only focused on slowly licking a stripe up your open slit, marking his first taste of you.
There was a strong reverberation that jolted through you, causing your legs to flinch closed, Daryl’s head now sandwiched between the fat of your thighs. “Oh!” you cried out, back involuntarily arched against the cushion and hands tangled further in his hair until your fingernails clawed at his scalp. There was a muffled growl between your legs in response. At first, you assumed you’d hurt him. “Oh, I—I am sorry, my love…” you sputtered, almost with a nervous laugh at your sensitivity, and massaging his scalp more gently now. “Did I hurt you?”
On the contrary, your scratching and pulling and squeezing only excited him. He did not answer your question, only pressing his face harder against you, smothering his nose and mouth between your folds, wettened by his saliva. If he suffocated between your legs, he’d die happy, as the taste was intoxicating, sweeter than the finest honey wine he’d ever had, and the feeling a more lovely warmth than the hearth that illuminated the dim cottage with that dreamy glow.
With a renewed lust, he moved his head wildly, licking up and down and swirling in tight circles round the bundle of nerves above the entrance. It seemed to elicit the most beautiful moans and gasps and sighs from your pretty mouth, of which he often took a glimpse when he raised his eyes to admire your innocent beauty.
And though he could lick you like this for hours on end, he’d grown desperate to taste you deeper, just a little. So he parted your legs with a jolt. “Keep ‘em open,” he ordered, voice more hoarse and throaty and deep than before. His desire was becoming more urgent, more primitive as the very last of his decency was chiseled away by his need. “I want more of this pretty cunt.”
You nearly gasped at the vulgar word, having only heard it once or twice in your presence—both times from a slightly inebriated Lady Margaret, who used it to pejoratively refer to Lady Caroline behind her back, but now you knew where it came from. It sounded devilishly dulcet on his low, panting voice.
Legs spread further apart, he caught another glimpse of that hole, coated in a sparkling sheen that was damp to the touch. The corner of his lip lifted slightly as he spoke. “You’re gettin’ wet,” he said, much to your confusion. “D’ya like what I’m doin’ to you, princess?”
“Y-yes,” you stuttered. His fingertip traced the rim of your wet entrance.
Before he dove down once more, he couldn’t help but just admire the beauty of your womanhood with his eyes. He felt a sudden wave of unworthiness well up in him. After all, this sight was never for him. It was forbidden, and yet, you’d decided he was worthy to have you.
You, his lady, his mistress, his princess, his queen. In every sense of the word, you ruled him, and he had no choice but to bask in the glory of your trembling body, every inch perfect and unique and, soon, his.
He’d make you his, but first he had to make him yours.
“Oh!” His lips spread open wide to envelope the hole, where his tongue flattened out to lick at the source of your arousal. All you could feel was his long tongue poking inside you, wiggling to adjust to how small the entrance was.
Meanwhile, the tip of his soft button nose pressed up against your most sensitive spot, where a fresh tingle surged through you. To get a better angle, he slid both hands underneath your bare rump, pulling your body closer and angling your core upwards as your legs found their home upon his shoulders, just the perfect width to accommodate your thighs.
“That’s it,” he spoke against your inner thigh, where he left a series of frantic, desperate little kisses. They weren’t just lustful, but affectionate, as though he was bestowing these kisses to reward you for your obedience. “Sweet royal cunt.”
That word again made you flinch, or perhaps it was the suction of his lips around that bundle of nerves that pleased you so.
“Y-you’re so vulgar,” you sighed with a gentle laugh rolling under your voice. “Where… is my gallant knight?”
“Between your pretty legs, milady.”
His tongue wiggled in spastic movements between his lips, reddening and engorging the sensitive spot as a strange tightening feeling formed in your lower belly. Unbeknownst to you, the walls of your passage squeezed involuntarily around the empty space inside you. In this moment, you never felt more empty, in fact. All you wanted, the longer his mouth devoured you, was to somehow feel whole.
“Please!” you cried out, voice strained and high-pitched with a desperate plea for him to satisfy you, somehow. You did not know how, but you needed it, whatever it was. “Oh, I…”
The knight knew what you needed, and he needed it, too, but you were so close to ultimate pleasure. The wetter you became, the more of his saliva that soaked into your crevices and your increasingly gaping entrance, the more your body would accept his. That much he knew.
But the feeling was so powerful, so overwhelming. Each burst of pleasure erupted within you, like a volcano that had lain dormant for a millenia or two, and only now was that red hot magma spewing forth, until one final eruption would leave you satisfied. It terrified you. Was this normal? Surely a woman should not feel such euphoria. All you’d known of your womb was the pain and shame of that period in which blood would flow from you. You’d been told it was divine punishment for women. Eve’s betrayal, the fall of Eden… Why should you pay for that? Now, there was only pleasure, no pain.
The pleasure, though, was so intense, so frightful, that you panicked, your thighs clenching tight round his head once more as your back arched in agonizing bliss, his tongue now thrusting into you again. “Oh!” you cried out. “I… Wh-what… Daryl, I’m frightened!”
His eyes flashed up to look at you. “What is it?” he asked. He tore himself away from you, while his hand reached up to cradle your trembling cheek. “What’s wrong?”
“I—I…” Gasping for air, you writhed and wriggled underneath him, squeezing your thighs together as if to provide some relief. “I do not know… I feel so strange.”
Tears trickled down your cheek, and the knight’s brows furrowed in concern. He brushed a few away with his fingers. “Why’re ya cryin’, girl?”
And you knew now why, as your hips gyrated and bucked up towards him, as if demanding for him to return to you. The sensation was just so strong, but so lovely. “Please,” you whimpered. “Do not stop.”
Now he knew, too. A laugh forced his mouth into a wide grin. “Oh, I see,” he said, hands moving achingly slowly back down to your thighs. He spread them apart again, a feeling which made your breath hitch for a moment. “Feels good, doesn’t it? My tongue…”
“Yes,” you gasped. “Please, more.”
And so he gave you more, his mouth quickly returning to that puffy, reddened flesh between your thighs, eliciting from you a visceral moan as your head fell back against the cushion. “Ah!” you cried out.
After the brief period in which he’d separated from you, you now felt the sensation returning, this time even more intense. Sounds of wet flesh being licked and sucked and kissed surrounded you, accompanied by soft, muffled groans from your knight.
How he’d wanted this for so long, to have your taste and to feel your restless, writhing body involuntarily grinding against his tongue. For a moment, he pulled your outer lips further apart, allowing more direct exposure to the now throbbing, swollen protrusion that gave you so much pleasure. He sucked at that flesh again, this time bringing his finger to the hole that begged to be filled.
“Oh, oh!” His finger breached the entrance, just a few centimeters, but enough to stretch you more than you’d been stretched open ever before. “My god!”
“Come,” his voice murmured between furious sucking. “Come, my princess. I want you to come.”
“C-come… Where?”
“On my face,” he laughed.
“Wh-what… are you… talking about?”
The vibration of his laughter tickled your flesh. “You’re too innocent,” he said. “You’ll see what I mean.”
He knew you must be close, so it did not take much more effort to get you to the brink of orgasm. All he needed to do was curl his finger upwards inside you as he swirled his tongue with more pressure, practically digging a brand new hole with the tip of his tongue.
And, with your hands shooting out to claw at his shoulders, the tingling and tightening and tickling finally reached its peak as the feeling of the final, strongest eruption came forth, exploding from the pit of your abdomen and spreading throughout every cell in your hot, squirming body.
Moans of his name were falling softly, repeatedly from your lips, where bite marks had embedded themselves after several minutes of your teeth digging into the skin. He’d never heard his name being spoken so much, so sweetly and with so much bliss. After all, it was the name of the person who’d given you the greatest feeling you’d ever experienced.
You were left jolting, your body gently rocking up against his face, which was still buried between your lips as his tongue gathered every drop of the arousal that slowly dripped from you. His own arousal caught up with him, too, a noticeable feeling of a strain, and a tightening in his chausses.
Panting and moaning under your labored breaths, you felt the pleasure begin to die down as his lips praised you with small kisses all over the outside of your pulsing entrance. Deviously, he stuck his tongue out to deliver short, sweet licks to your still throbbing bundle of nerves.
A soft, delirious giggle erupted from your lips as your fingers tangled in his disheveled hair. All you could see was his head bobbing between your legs, and all you could hear was the crackle of the hearthfire and the sounds of his pursed lips kissing your wet folds. Feeling his finger curling at the shallow part of you, you squeezed on purpose, much to his amusement.
“I feel ya,” he mumbled. “You feel so good.”
“Daryl.” Your hands grasped both sides of his head with some pressure, as if to pull him up. “Come here.”
He let you guide his head until his lips met yours and your arms wrapped loosely around his neck, weighing him down. His body weight covered you completely, a sensation which excited him even more.
On your lips, you tasted yourself, his tongue and lips now coated with your arousal. “What did you do to me?” you asked between his kiss. “Your tongue is magical… Some kind of wicked sorcery.”
His laughter tickled your cheek as he kissed you there. “I jus’ made ya come,” he said simply. “S’why you’re so wet down there now. Got you all ready.” His hands raised up to tug on the collar of your dress, as if trying to yank it off you.
“Ready for what?” you laughed, though you had a few ideas of what he could be referring to, as innocent as you were, but you hadn’t heard the word he’d said next before.
“For my cock.”
In genuine confusion, you furrowed your brow. “You have a rooster?”
“Yeah.” The mischievous, lop-sided smirk on his face as his finger traced your jawline told you he was messing with you. “I’ve got a big, red rooster.”
“Oh?” you said, playing along with him despite your ignorance. “Well, won’t you introduce me to your rooster?”
By now, you knew what he meant.
When he dragged your hand down to his clothed erection, a deep blush bloomed upon your cheeks. “Oh,” you sighed. “Hello, rooster.”
To say you hadn’t thought of it before would be a lie. Of course you had. While you did not know much about sex, or that part of the male anatomy, you knew that part of a man was meant for that complimentary part of a woman. You knew that was the part of him that would put a child in your womb, though you knew not the exact details of the whole ordeal.
Interrupting your thoughts of his “rooster,” you were suddenly lifted from the ground and tangled in his arms, with your feet dangling off the ground as he dragged you towards the hay-stuffed mattress you’d rested upon a few times before. You exclaimed a laughing, “Daryl!” before being laid gently, yet almost impatiently, upon the bed.
You propped yourself up on your elbows to see him at the foot of the bed, lifting his shirt above his head as he panted.
Eyes wide, you felt your heart thump in your chest when his broad frame was bare before you, his chest just as bulky and strong and wide as you’d imagined. Your eyes were drawn to the charming smattering of little hairs, and the small pink nipples that hardened against the air.
You couldn’t help but follow the trail of those same hairs that began at his navel and led down to the waistband of his pants, which he began to untie frantically. Meanwhile, your mouth fell agape at the shape of his… cock, you supposed it was called—so big it looked like it could rip through the cotton of his chausses at any second.
Involuntarily, your thighs rubbed themselves together, where you could now feel your own wetness seeping from you. Seeing the size of his cock, now you knew why you’d need to be wet.
Just like that, he was naked, his cock springing up as soon as he pulled his pants down enough. It nearly startled you, almost eliciting a gasp. Never had you seen something so… odd. You couldn’t even wrap your head around the testicles just yet.
But he left you hardly any time to think about the new body parts you were faced with. Instead, he laid himself down on his side next to you, his hands rubbing up and down your arms. The motion soothed you, though his dark, lusty stare made you shiver.
“Sit up for me,” he said. You did as he told you, as an unspoken dynamic had appeared: he would lead you, as you were much too inexperienced to know your way around this territory.
And yet, he was not forceful, nor domineering. Indeed, he knew you were still his princess, his ruler. He knew that you held the utmost power over him, and that whatever you’d say, he would have to do it. There was no mistake of who was ultimately in charge, whose body he was compelled to worship and please. Still, he’d lead you physically.
Now sitting up, he scooted back to unlace the back of your gown, each silk knot coming undone with a beautiful cascade of fabric, until your back was nude, and he pressed a kiss to the top of your spine.
He pulled on your sleeves gently, but with a noticeable waning of his patience. “Lay back now,” he said. Like a mindless servant, you obeyed him.
Your surcoat was loose enough to pull off you now, so he did, letting the expensive garment sink to the floor. Now, your kirtle, which he pulled over your head, manipulating your body like a rag doll. With each movement he made, another sweaty, glistening muscle flexed under that tan, workworn skin, stretching across which were many faded scars from battles and jousts and God only knew what else.
Lastly, your chemise kept him from your supple nude body, so he pulled it off with a slight growl under his breath. Now, you laid back fully, your completely divested skin meeting the thick, buttery soft pelt of the fur blanket beneath you.
Your body was a sight to behold, so marvelous that he stood up again, stepping back to let his eyes roam all over you.
It was enough to bring him to knees, literally. He sunk to the floor, where he attached his lips to your ankle, which had caused him some trouble in the past. The many times he’d caught sight of your ankle, he felt perverted, sinful. Then your calf, soft and smooth against his lips. He covered as much skin as he could in his kisses, then he reached your knee, and your thighs, where he spread apart your legs to leave more kisses at your womanhood.
“You’re insatiable,” you laughed, watching as his lips trailed through the hairs on your mound. “You cannot kiss every part of my body, sir.”
“I can try.”
His tongue circled around your navel, then he continued his kisses to the slope of your left breast, where he quickly latched to your nipple, causing you to flinch at the new feeling.
His other hand found your other breast, squeezing it just enough to make you gasp a little. After all, with his lips and hands worshiping your entire body, you weren’t sure how else to react.
“You’re so perfect,” he mumbled against the pillowy surface of your breast. “I’d die for you.”
Even the thought made you shiver and cling to his flexing shoulder blades. “N-no, my love… Do not say such a thing. My… my heart c-could not bear to even think of it.”
“I’d kill for you,” he said now. “I’ll do anythin’ you ask of me… I belong to you.”
As you processed his pledge, you hadn’t even noticed two of his fingers digging into your entrance, spreading you open, little by little. His sweet, raspy voice soothed the pain.
Now, his lips trailed to your collarbones, where he left dozens of kisses and licks across your skin.
“I live to serve you,” he whispered. You gasped, not at his words, but at his two thick fingers going deeper, a sound of flesh upon wet flesh. “Only you… My sweet princess.”
“Oh, my sweet knight… Ah…”
A slight tearing feeling at your entrance made you wince in pain, but the knight paused for a moment, nudging his nose against your cheek to get your attention.
“Am I hurtin’ ya?”
“No, no.” If he stopped, you might die of emptiness. The stretching hurt, but you could not go much longer without him filling the emptiness within you. Once he started, you wouldn’t be able to be without him.
“Need to stretch your cunt a little,” he said. “My cock’s gonna hurt ya more if I don’t.”
Judging by the size, you believed him. Your eyes were transfixed on the thing as you wondered how in the world he’d get it in your tight hole, but you trusted him to take care of you.
And you wanted it. You couldn’t explain it, but your need for that big length of flesh, with engorged veins and a droplet or two of clear liquid beading at its reddened tip, was greater than any pain you might’ve felt.
“I want it, sir,” you practically purred. “Your…”
He smiled against the cheek he was busy kissing. “My rooster?”
“Your cock.”
He tore his lips away to give you a wide-eyed stare as he tried to fake a serious look of shock, but the upturned corner of his snickering lips betrayed him.
“Your highness,” he scolded in jest. “Where’d ya learn such a dirty word?” His fingers inched deeper, so deep that your back arched as you laughed a visceral moan.
“Oh, you scoundrel!” Your hand delivered a very weak slap to his chest.
Pulling his fingers out, he laughed as his hands gripped both of your wrists. His face turned serious, yet still soft. “You think you’re ready for my cock?”
“Yes, but… I mustn’t have your child now.”
You weren’t totally unaware of the true purpose of sex. In fact, it had been drilled into your head by archbishop Gabriel, whose responsibility seemed to be deterring you and all other maidens at court from engaging in premarital sex that was not for the express purpose of procreation, as such an act would brand one “a whore in the eyes of God.” Conveniently, the archbishop’s sermon had overlooked any consequences for men.
“You won’t,” he assured you. Indeed, he had intimate knowledge of one of the world’s most time-honored methods of contraception: coitus interruptus. “I’ll be careful.”
Removing his fingers from you, he rubbed his palm up and down your slit, spreading the wetness of your arousal all over you. He leaned back for a moment, looking down to spread apart your lips and see your hole, which opened quite a bit wider now for him. Redness pooled around the opening, but you couldn’t notice the dull pain, not when his eyes held yours so intently. “Think you’re ready,” he said. “Tell me to stop and I will.”
Don’t stop. “All right, my love.”
The hard, spongy surface of his tip grazed over your clit, and slid with his body as he rolled forward over you. “You ready?”
At this point, the suspense was killing you. Each drag of his length through your sodden flesh was agonizing. Your body grew restless, arching your back up to meet his chest and pull him down. “Yes,” you sighed, then ghosted your lips over his. “Make me yours now. I want to be yours.”
He eased himself in as your mouth latched to his, your whimpers of combined pain and pleasure melting into his kiss. The tip was inside you now, just beginning to stretch you further to meet the wide girth of his thick cock. The slow, tearing feeling was enough to make you bite down on his tongue, nearly drawing blood. He only growled into your mouth, digging his cock deeper.
Your suffocating tightness tested his willpower, his ability to keep himself from moving so fast that he’d lose control of his cock, but it felt so good, so warm and snug. As he sank further into you, he tore his lips free to whisper against your ear, “How ya feel?”
With a deep swallow, you held back your tears. “Fine,” you said. “Just… it hurts a little. Does it fit?”
He looked between your bodies, where half his length was inside you, the other half twitching with bulging veins and redness only darkening. He stayed still, brushing back your tears as you sniffled. “Yeah, it’ll fit. You just need stretched, s’all.”
He pushed himself in a little further as his lips caught another tear. Clawing at his back, you let out a sharp gasp. “Oh! Daryl! It’s too big, you’re too big… I can’t…”
His hand reached down to tickle his fingers against your clit, attempting to ease your pain by giving you more pleasure. He knew his cock would hurt you before it felt good. “Sh… sh… D’ya want me to stop, princess?”
“No, no!” you cried out, nearly startling him. He felt your arms tighten round his back, as if to keep him exactly where he was. “Please don’t stop. I—I…” Tears trickled down more now, like a torrential rain over your cheek.
He stopped again, this time pulling himself out a little to prop himself up and look at you with the utmost earnestness. “Why are ya cryin’ now? I don’t wanna make you cry. Am I hurtin’ you too much?”
In truth, the physical pain of being stretched by him was not strong enough to elicit these tears. What made you cry, in fact, was the simple truth that tonight, you’d give yourself to your true love, but in a matter of days, Sir Negan would take you away from him, and you might never see him, or your father, or anyone else you loved, ever again.
To think you may never be here, like this, with him again… It broke your heart, though every cell in your body was demanding for another burst of euphoria. It was all too much emotion, too much stimulation. And yet, you’d never want him to stop. You’d like to be this way forever, if you could. If only you could.
“It’s just… Promise me…”
Furrowed brows contorted his face. He brushed the back of his hand over your cheek. “Promise ya what?” He wasn’t sure of the point of asking, as he knew that he would promise you, his lady, anything anyway. A knight’s ultimate test of chivalry, afterall, was his undying, unyielding, uncompromising devotion to his lady.
“Promise you won’t forget me.” When Negan takes me, you wanted to say, but you hesitated to even mention him at this moment, when the only man who really mattered to you was looking at you with his own tears beginning to well in his cunning blue eyes.
“I could never, ever forget you, milady.”
And he knew now what you meant. He knew the fear in your eyes, the same fear from the other night. He could feel this fear inside him, too. The fear of never seeing you again, of you being trapped in a place you could not escape from, not unlike how you’d been trapped in your own castle. Yet, this would be so much worse, for you’d be chained to that wretched, evil man, who would do God knows what to you.
But those thoughts were poisonous. “Don’t think about that now… Just feel me.” So he came into you again, just as far as he’d gotten before. “That’s it… Can you take more?”
That was all you wanted, actually. More. All you needed was him, filling you as deep as possible, taking you over and marking you as his. You’d never be Negan’s now, and that gave you a sense of power, a relief in knowing that there was at least one thing Negan could never take from you—your chastity.
“More, Daryl. Please.”
By now, he was almost all the way inside you, but he could go no further, for his own fear of hurting you too much. He pulled out a bit then, to which you grasped at his shoulders and pulled him back against you. “Where are you going?”
“Nowhere,” he laughed. “I’m just movin’. Calm down, you’re all rigid. Ease up.” Taking his words to heart, you let out a deep breath and relaxed your muscles, allowing you to settle more comfortably into the plush fur underneath you. Slowly, he pushed himself back in, your body welcoming him in with the hug of your slick tightness. “There ya go… Look, your cunt’s already gettin’ used to me. You’re takin’ it good.”
So good, in fact, that you couldn’t help but smile at the feeling—the warmth, the hardness, the fullness… The feeling of his cock sliding back and forth, but never completely leaving you. The sensation was beautiful, far more intimate than anything you’d ever imagined. When he lowered himself down again, his chest laid snug against yours, the feeling of his nipples rubbing yours hard and slow the more he thrusted. As if on their own accord, your legs loosened to lift and wrap around his lower back, taking him in just a little further. There was pain again, but not enough to hurt you. It only felt good.
He had to be careful not to move too fast, though the involuntary squeezing of your walls drew him closer to his breaking point. He could feel both your arousal and his, surrounding him inside you. But he had to make you come again, he thought. He needed to know that his cock had pleased his princess just as much as his tongue.
Your soft, whimpering moans made it clear that he was, indeed, pleasing you, your tearing pain having given way to that tingling feeling again, making your writhe and shiver underneath him.
“Daryl,” you panted. Spurred on by your pulsing body, his movements became faster, more sloppy, more passionate. Now you could really feel his size, his length digging into a particular spot that made you roll your head back against his pillow, your lips trembling and gasping for air as you spoke. “Oh, it feels so… Yes, my love, my knight… You’re so big.”
“Princess… I feel your cunt squeezing me.”
“Oh, I—I am s-sorry.”
He huffed a laugh against your cheek. “Feels good,” he said. “Keep squeezin’ me.”
He pressed a firm kiss to your cheek as his hips thrusted non-stop, now molding you to fit his cock perfectly, forever. Well, for however long you had left together.
“God, you’re soakin’ me,” he said, his voice nearly drowned out by the sound of wet skin on skin.
Your well-trained manners urged you to apologize again, but the sensation of his cock hitting into you was enough to render you speechless, except for the breathless sighs and sultry moans escaping your lips as you clawed at his shoulders, fingernails digging into his scarred flesh to nearly break open new wounds.
He continued on for a while now, though you could not tell how long he’d been thrusting, you only knew you were drowned by his mouth, his lips finding every part of your skin that he could reach in this position and leaving sloppy trails of open-mouthed kisses. That tightening and tingling within you strengthened with each movement he made, each thrust reminding you of how deep inside you he was, and how strong he was, his body weight driving the force of each hard, deep stroke.
Only when your moans had faded into heaving breaths and your body had loosened into jelly did he speak to you again, though not stopping his thrusts, as he couldn’t bring himself to even think about stopping now.
“Hey, sweetheart? You all right?”
You were hardly responsive, only opening half-lidded eyes to gape at his reddened, sweat-dripping face. His chestnut hair hung wildly, tickling your cheeks, though all you could feel was the pounding, the swelling of his cock inside you, the growing sensation of that volcano about to erupt again.
“H-hey.” You felt his hand cup your cheek as he said your name, his own voice shaky and stuttering as he began to lose his ability to keep himself in control. Tears welled up in your eyes once more, only now, they were those same tears of overwhelming, astounding satisfaction.
Stimulated to the point of near-catatonia, you were released by a sudden wave of vibrations that surged through you like electricity, bringing you back to life. Your legs clenched tight around his waist as your head shot back, exposing your strained neck. His lips did not spare you in your moaning, crying state. They attacked your neck as you pulsed all around his cock and grinded up against his pelvis by instinct. He held his hips still now, though, letting you ride the multiple waves of your intense orgasm until you shook like a leaf in a cool autumn wind beneath his strong, stabilizing body which your hands clung to desperately.
“Oh, Jesus!” was all you muster. You’d never said the Lord’s name in vain as many times as you had that night. Granted, you had never said the Lord’s name in vain before. “Christ!” Surely, you would be going to Hell.
“Shit,” the knight muttered into the crook of your neck. “I—I’m…”
Ears pounding with the sound of your heart, you could not process a word he said. You could only allow your glassy eyes to roll back as your lips formed a delirious, open-mouthed smile. “Oh, Daryl.”
He propped himself up on his bulky arms, dripping with sweat and bulging with flexed, aching muscles. As if to soothe them, you ran your hands up towards his biceps, holding onto them for dear life as he began thrusting again, almost completely inside of you.
All you could do now was smile up at him, murmuring his name, interspersed with declarations of your love and breathy moans that tortured him the closer he came to releasing himself.
“You’re so beautiful,” he panted. “You’re mine.”
“Yes,” you agreed. “Yes, yours. Forever.”
“Mine.”
With an almost helpless groan, he pulled himself completely from you, sinking down on his arms to press against you, but with his cock angled to release on your heavy stomach. Though you missed the feeling of him inside you, you moaned at the feeling of warmth near your navel, where he spilled himself onto you.
Curiosity overcame you as you looked between your bodies, watching his strange… attachment release a silky, cloudy white liquid in spurts. For a moment, your eyes widened in slight fear. Truly, you had absolutely no idea what was happening. For all you knew, he’d suddenly contracted some strange disease that caused his cock to leak a new humor.
“Wh-what is… Daryl, are you all right?”
Once again, he laughed at your innocence. “I’m just fine… Better than fine,” he said, sinking down into a deep kiss. He only parted from them for a moment to say, “That’s s’posed to happen. Did they not teach you anythin’ about sex?”
“Th-they said…” You laughed at your lack of breath. “They said my husband would show me.”
He sighed as he lifted himself off you, then rolled over onto his side. With a huff, he yanked the fur-lined blanket from underneath you, then draped it over himself and you, much to your relief, as it was cold without his naked body on top of yours.
“Your father,” he began to say, wrapping an arm around your rather limp, flimsy body to pull you close, “he wanted ya to marry my lord, didn’t he?”
A puzzled look contorted your face. “How did you know?”
“He tells me everythin’.” The touch of his calloused fingers tickled your hairline as he brushed back your bangs. “Told me the king brought us here because he thought Richard would make a good husband for you… Why didn’t you want him?”
Duke Richard hadn’t crossed your mind much since that night he first arrived, though you never thought too much about why exactly he did not attract you as much as Sir Daryl did. Now, it was quite clear.
“Because he isn’t you, my love.” A laugh escaped your lips as you settled your hand upon his chest, twisting your fingers between the hairs that intrigued you so. “The duke is… He is a good man, but you are better. That is all.”
A rosy blush blossomed on his cheeks as his mouth curled with a lopsided smile. You admired the lines in his face, the crows feet and tired bags around his adoring eyes. “He would’ve made a good husband for you.”
“Mm, perhaps.” Your pointer finger traced lines over his sharp collarbone. “Lady Michonne is rather fond of him, though. I think they make a lovely couple. Besides, my heart does not belong to him. It belongs to you.”
Shaking his head, he offered you a somber smile. “You know you can’t marry me, even if Negan didn’t want you. I’d be killed.”
“My father would not kill you.”
“You don’t know that for sure. If he… if he knew that I took you outside the walls, let alone that we—”
“We could go somewhere, someday.”
Your name fell on his lips, but you interrupted him again. “Negan will take me, I know I cannot escape that, but someday, when Alexandria is strong enough, you can find me, and we’ll go away, somewhere you’ve been on your travels. My father would understand. We could be together, we could marry. Someday.”
But you knew it was a pipe dream. You knew that, if it could ever happen, it would happen so long from now, and you could not leave your father without him knowing you were all right. It seemed as though there was nothing to stop the world from caving in. For someone who had so much power by birth, you felt so powerless, the most powerless you’d ever felt in your whole life. That was saying something, as you never truly felt in control of your own destiny. You never thought it could get worse, until now.
“You know I won’t let him take you,” he said. “Maybe we can be together like that someday, but right now, all I care about is you, not me and you.”
“But… I care about you.”
And for the first time in his life, he believed those words.
“I know you do.” Upon your forehead, he placed a chaste kiss. “Ya know, once a knight gives his heart to a lady, he can never give it to anyone else, and he’s bound to her forever.”
Of course you knew that. There wasn’t much about knights you didn’t know. If only you had as much knowledge of human sexuality as you did of knighthood, but alas.
“Does that mean you will marry me one day?”
His eyes narrowed in playful suspicion as he pretended to think it over, mumbling a pensive, “Hm…”
“Sir Daryl,” you teased, “if you do not agree to marry me, I will send you to the stocks.”
“Your highness,” he said, his arms pulling you in closer to his chest, “I promise myself to you.”
“And I, you… My sweet, brave knight.”
That evening, you did not return to the castle until the sun began to rise again. Sleeping on a straw-stuffed bed was quite the adjustment from your feather-stuffed one, but he did not let go of you, not even in his sleep, and that made all the difference to you.
Despite the uncertainty that loomed in the air all around you, the fear that settled in your heart from the moment you realized you might never see Daryl again, you had a strange, persistent sense that, someday, every night could be like this one.
Someday, you repeated in your head, lulling yourself to sleep in his arms.
But that was the future, and this was now. Now, you knew only one thing to be perfectly, virtuously true: you were his, just as he was yours.
Through life, and after death.
~
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Oh nothing just thinking about how extremely sexually frustated and pent up season 2 Daryl gets and how he gets to release all that by taking you into his tent and fucking himself totally stupid
He’s just so angry and frustrated with himself, with the world. He doesn’t wanna think. He wants to forget. You’re so soft, so warm, he’s addicted to your body, the way it makes his body feel, the way he makes yours feel, it does something unreal to him.
Daryl’s rough but because he needs you so bad, he’s rough because he simply cannot get enough, and his greedy hands try to grab onto to more. Fuck, your body turns him on so much to the point he wanted to get completely nude himself, pressing your skin against his. Your hands never touched his scars, it made him feel safe.
It was like therapy for him, shyly dragging you away from the group into his little tent for a hot and needy make out session, tearing off your clothes like teenagers who had just discovered how magical sex could feel. He’d be so obviously hungry in the way he sloppily kissed you, his hands pinning you down onto the makeshift mattress so he can drag his wet lips across your jaw, licking the underside and sucking his way down your throat. He gropes your fatty hips, squeezes your thick thighs and runs his hands up the sides of your smooth waist, fondling your soft tits before shamelessly popping one into his mouth.
Daryl didn’t know the first thing when it came down to pleasing a woman, Merle always telling him how he just “fucks ‘em ‘nd goes” and “doesn’t bother with all tha’ extras” but Daryl didn’t understand what that meant. To him, sex was sex. You needed two people to have sex, that was two bodies you needed to please.
Daryl’s thrusts were messy and sometimes he needed you to talk him through it, tell him how good he was truly making you feel and how he could do even better. It was all that he needed, your voice filling his ears and completely drowning out any others. You filled all five of his senses, touch being the most overwhelming one. He needed to fuck until he just couldn’t anymore, whimpering into your chest as his hips stutter, cock twitching as he cums. But Daryl doesn’t pull out, no, he keeps going, fucking himself through his orgasm till his cock is sensitive and aching.
By the end, you’re both a complete mess, Daryl’s release oozing out of you and sticky where it had started to smear against your inner thigh, wetly smacking against his hip. Daryl simply wants to press himself against you after sex, peppering soft but firm kisses onto your sweaty face. He practically kissed you with both his nose and lips, bumping his face into yours. It made you smile, because it was like his own unique way of telling you ‘I love you’ without actually saying it, and he didn’t need to, never needed to. His body spoke loud enough for him.
｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★
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H EY could you possibly write a fic where the readers been on some heat the whole day just overall pissed, then there’s a fight outbreak in Alexandria and everyone crowding around & people calling Daryl so he comes, just to realise it’s his girl and he has to restrain her, pulling her away so she doesn’t continue beating the shit out of whoever and she’s MAD so he has to calm her down and gets her to just talk to him so he can help her. Just a thought yk 😛
Sticks and Stones
✧ Pairing : Daryl Dixon x Reader
✧ Era : Season 5
✧ Pronouns : she/her
✧ Genre : Fluff
✧ Word Count : 3k
AN ~ I like this idea a lot! Just the thought of Daryl helping her clean up and take care of her after something like this just makes me melt. ps- Sorry for the inactiveness lately, April has already been such a crazy month for me and I've sadly had little to no time to write. But I'll definitely start getting back on track soon. Hope you enjoy!
The weather was hot, sticky, and humid. Your hair was a frizzy mess, sticking up everywhere as you worked in the miserable weather. You were sweating in places you didn’t even think were possible to sweat from. Bottom line was, you were miserable.
The bad mood that was embedded in you only seemed to grow as the day dragged on longer and longer. It was bad enough that your group joined this new community in the first place, having to live with all of these complete strangers after everything you had been through with your family. But what seemed to make it even worse, was this community had some high expectations upon your arrival. The leader, Deanna, made it very clear that she wanted each and every one of you working like dogs in order to do your part just like everyone else.
Meanwhile her sons were sitting in their air conditioned houses without lifting a damn finger.
Though you didn’t mind putting in the work, in fact, that was all you did your whole life. You were never handed a damn thing, needing to learn to find your own way in life and work for everything you got instead of being spoiled rotten. But again, you didn’t mind. The only thing that bugged you was that there were clearly a few favorites that got special treatment. Though you weren’t just talking about Deanna’s sons.
For the past couple of days you had been scheduled to work with a small group of others that you tried to play nice with. And for the most part, they all seemed friendly enough, willing to pitch in and do the part they were told to complete. Everyone…except for this one bitch who seemed to love getting a rise out of you.
You didn’t know her name, you couldn’t be bothered to learn it. But that didn’t mean the urge for punching her in her stupid, fake ass face wasn’t growing the longer you were in the same vicinity. She didn’t do a damn thing other than tell every other person what to do. And she always seemed to make it her mission to get under your skin at least once a day to really add to your sour mood, really wanting to see how far she could push you. But you, of course, always did nothing. It’s not because you weren’t capable of defending yourself, but you knew even one screw up could get you, and possibly the rest of your family kicked out of here.
You didn’t want to take that chance. After all, this whole opportunity and hard work was the chance to prove that you were all worthy to stay within the thick, sturdy walls they had built. You didn’t want to screw it up for yourself, but you especially didn’t want to screw it up for anyone else. Which is why you kept to yourself for the most part, only smiling politely to the ones who showed you even an ounce of kindness as they passed by with a friendly greeting. Other than that your eyes just stayed down, in hopes that somehow the day would go by faster that way.
You and a few others were currently in the large garden that was placed practically directly in the middle of the community, instructed to pick the fruits and vegetables that were ripe enough to bring back to the pantry. The job was simple enough, knowing that when this last basket of yours was full, you would take everything back, wash them off, and place them in the right sections before finally heading back to your new home. You could practically hear the cool shower calling your name from all the way over here.
Though subconsciously, your gaze traveled up a few different times to keep an eye out for Daryl, seeing if he was maybe passing the area. You didn’t necessarily know the job he was given for the day, but what you did know was that it was hot as fuck outside. And seeing Daryl with his arms exposed, the signature leather vest, and sweat glistening off of him…the sight would surely make your day ten times better than how it was going.
But everytime you did a subtle scan, he was nowhere to be found, and you couldn’t help but sigh a bit dramatically as all you wanted was to take him home and use that last bit of energy you had left.
“Hey!”
You were snapped out of your lustful daze suddenly when you heard a familiar voice from the other end of the space, seeing the one blonde bitch who wouldn’t get off your back, her face scowling into a glare.
You raised your arms up from your slightly crouched position, “What?”
“I can see you slacking off from all the way over here, get back to work!” she called with her hands sassily on her hips.
You sent her a bitter smile before ducking your head back down in attempts to pull yourself together, “Oh, I’ll get back to work.” you spoke under your breath, “Work on shoving this foot up your ass.” you grumbled as you began picking a few more ripe strawberries.
A few minutes of peace passed, moving down the line as you scanned for any more things that were ready to be picked off the vine. Your small basket sat by your feet as it was nearly filled to the brim with the amount of fruit you collected over the past hour or so. That is…until it wasn’t.
Out of the corner of your eye you could see someone’s shadow coming from your left as whoever it was seemed to just be passing by. But the sound of their foot coming in contact with the wooden basket right beside you is what caused your gaze to snap up, already knowing who the hell it was. Her blonde hair blowing behind her as she didn’t even stop to look at the mess she made was kind of a dead giveaway.
You shot up to your feet as annoyance began to quickly overtake you, causing you to open your mouth before you even got a chance to think twice. “What the fuck?” you called after her.
She turned around on instinct, as if she was expecting you to say something, a small smirk on her face as she shrugged. “What?”
You pressed your lips together as your annoyance grew, stepping up closer to her so you could keep the conversation quiet, “What the hell is your problem? You don’t think I can tell you’re doing this shit on purpose?”
“Oh I know you can.” she said with a bitchy tilt of her head, her arms coming to cross over her chest, “I’m just wondering when the fuck you’re going to get a clue.”
“Well, why don’t you just spell it out for me, because I’m getting pretty tired of dealing with the same bullshit from you.” you stated bluntly.
She scoffed, “You and your grubby little group don’t belong here.” she spat harshly, “None of you are what we need for this community, in fact, you’re only tearing us down. I don’t even know why Deanna let you people in here in the first place.”
Her words caused your eyebrows to fly up in utter surprise. You expected her to attack you, shoot insults directed toward you. But you never expected in a million years that she would have the audacity to go after your family the way she did with little to no reason at all.
And in the end, that’s what pushed you over the edge as you laughed at her, not needing to come up with a single response as you had a few other things in mind.
Daryl was on the other end of the community, patrolling around the streets when he heard the sudden commotion. At first he couldn’t quite pinpoint what was going down, only seeing a swarm of people flooding toward one area where lots of shouts and panicked voices were coming from. Curiosity eventually got the better of him as his brows furrowed in confusion, his pace picking up as he approached the gardens, opening the white gates to step inside.
His eyes squinted as he could tell there was some sort of fight breaking out, the people surrounding them either cheering them on, or trying to rip them apart. He leaned from side to side, trying to see who was in the middle of it all as he silently prayed he was wrong about what he originally assumed. But then there was a small parting in the crowd, allowing him to catch a glimpse in between them, and his face dropped.
Some random guy was holding you back as you attempted to hit the blonde girl at the other end of the circle they created, clawing out of his grip every so often to get another swing in while she cried. Daryl then didn’t waste another second, harshly shoving his way through the crowd to get to you in attempts to stop you from doing anymore damage. It was almost like he couldn’t get to you fast enough, either that, or you were just quick when it came to nearly tearing her head off.
“Hey!” he shouted once he was close enough, pulling you out of the man’s grasp in attempts to hold you back himself, “Stop!”
You hardly even heard his voice, your ears ringing as you continued to try and pry his hands off of you, desperately trying to swing again as the woman sobbed. Her nose bloody and a bruise forming on her right cheek. She clearly couldn’t fight for shit considering she had such a big mouth.
Daryl groaned as he yanked you back harshly, “Damnit (Y/N), I said stop!” he shouted once more, his voice enough to silence everyone in an instant.
The familiar voice then finally registered with you as well, whipping your head around quickly to see him, smoke nearly coming out of his ears. Your face softened as you instantly came to the realization of the damage you just caused, the potential outcome of your actions suddenly terrifying you.
Your head shook slightly as you tried to speak, “I-”
“Get back to the house.”
His tone was firm, but somehow still held a bit of gentleness. You sighed as you took yourself out of his hold, not needing to be told twice as you slowly began to walk out of the crowded area. Now seeing the amount of people that witnessed your meltdown, you suddenly wanted to crawl into a hole and die, feeling all their watchful eyes on you as Daryl quickly ushered you the rest of the way out. The last thing you barely caught a glimpse of, was a few others crowding around the blonde as she continued to cry her eyes out with her beaten face.
There wasn’t a single word spoken between the two of you. Just silence. And it was killing you.
He didn’t utter a word, only gesturing you into the bathroom for you to sit at the edge of the tub, before pulling out a first aid kid from the closet. Your brows furrowed in confusion as she hadn’t laid a hand on you, but then your eyes traveled down to your own hands, seeing how cut up and bloody they were. The pain hadn’t even registered to you, you hardly felt the sting at all as if your adrenaline was still pumping fast through your system.
Daryl wordlessly kneeled down in front of you, taking your hands with such softness in his touch as he cleaned you up with precision. You could tell he was trying to be as careful as he could, despite the fact that he was probably upset. Hell, the whole group would probably be upset with you for a while, over something that you could now never take back. Something that you could never undo. All because you couldn’t keep your head on straight.
You were forced to think about it even more as the silence only lingered, playing the imagines back over and over again in your mind. You wanted to say it was worth it, to see her actually get somewhat of a taste of her own bitter medicine, knowing now she would probably never fuck with you again. But the fate of the future, what would come next, still weighed heavily on you as it was clearly unknown.
You then sighed softly as you looked down at him, “I…I’m sorry.” your voice spoke barely above a whisper.
He nodded as he kept his eyes down, finishing up your left hand as he wrapped it in some bandages, “I know ya are.”
“You don’t know the things she was saying…what she’s been doing ever since we fucking got here. God…I know I shouldn’t have taken it that far, but that bitch got what she deserves, trust me.” you spoke bitterly, trying to convince yourself more than you were trying to convince him.
Daryl’s eyes then glanced up to you, a small smile on his lips as he nodded again, “I know.”
Your brows furrowed in both confusion and surprise, “You’re…you’re not mad?”
“Why would I be mad?” he asked, his voice a lot more gentle than it was before. But then again you could only assume it was all just the heat of the moment.
You shook your head softly, “I don’t know…” you muttered, glancing down to your hands as you slightly examined them, mostly to avoid his eyes as you knew he would be able to see right through you.
And he did. His brows furrowed as a few seconds of silence passed before he spoke again, “Yeah ya do. You just don’t wanna say it.”
A heavy sigh passed through your lips as you looked back up at him, “I just…I know that doing that was a big mistake.”
His eyes softened as he heard the timidness in your tone, “Everyone makes mistakes, sweetheart.” he said as he raised his hand to tuck some hair behind your ear, “It’s alright.”
“No…that’s not what I mean.” you said with a shake of your head, “I…I fucked up…I fucked up everything. Once Deanna finds out what happened, once she finds out that we can’t work with her people, she’ll kick us out. And then we’ll be back on the road without any food, or water, or anything. We barely made it last time, I-”
“Hey.” Daryl interrupted you softly, raising his hands to gently grip your forearms, “What are ya talkin about? None of that’s gonna happen.”
“But she’s already weary of us, we’re the big, scary outside people. The second she realizes that we won’t be able to fit in here, there’s no way she’ll let us stay.”
The man in front of you couldn’t help but smirk, which at first confused you, but then you found yourself rolling your eyes. “The big, scary outside people?” he repeated with a light chuckle.
You gave him a pointed look, “This is serious.”
“I know, I know.” he assured, “But I also know you’ve been bustin yer ass damn near everyday tryin to prove that you can be trusted here. That we can be trusted here. So…I think right now, you just need to take a second and breathe…okay?”
You stared at him for a moment before swallowing a bit thickly and nodding your head, taking a deep breath in attempts to calm your nerves. It felt like your brain was scattered all over the place and you knew he was right in saying that you just needed to fucking chill out for a second. You still had your worries about the outcome, but for some reason the longer you looked at the man sitting in front of you, the more those thoughts started to disappear.
After a few moments of silence, you felt him gently squeeze your arms again as he hadn’t taken his eyes off of you, “Ya got pretty worked up back there, killer. And I don’t think this stress and worryin is helpin. We’re here for a reason…to have a fighting chance. And you just gotta trust that over time, everythin’s just gonna work itself out…no matter what.”
He was so confident in his words, it made you want to feel confident too. It made you want to believe that this would all pass, and you didn’t completely screw up this opportunity like you assumed. Though there was still something else on your mind.
“But what about the fight? I mean…I messed her up pretty bad.”
He simply shrugged, “Good.”
Your eyebrows raised in slight shock, “What?”
“That bitch got what was coming to her. Truth is, ever since ya told me about what’s been goin on, I’ve been dyin for ya to knock some damn sense into her. If anything, I wanted to cheer you on.” he winked.
You couldn’t help but laugh, “Well, you always have been my biggest supporter…” you trailed off as you looked down toward your hands again, “And the best doctor around.”
He hummed with a small smile before grasping your hands gently, raising them up to his mouth to leave a few kisses on the back of your bandaged knuckles as if to seal the healing process.
You smiled a little to yourself at his actions, “So…you really think we’ll be okay?”
“We’ll be just fine.” he muttered as he placed one final kiss on your skin, “It’ll breeze over, people will move on. Cause I think they all kinda know she was the problem to begin with.”
“God, I hope so.” you scoffed, “And even though I kinda lost it…it felt good.” you admitted almost a bit sheepishly.
He chuckled as he pulled at your hands a little, helping you stand back up to your feet as he did, “Looked pretty good too.” he confirmed as he held you close, placing a kiss on top of your head. “I think you could use some kinda award for doin that.”
You smirked as you looked up at him, “Well…I could use a massage.”
He smiled right back at you as he nodded, “Done.”
~ Thanks for reading!
#daryl dixon#daryl dixon fanfiction#daryl dixon the walking dead#daryl dixon x oc#daryl dixon twd#daryl dixon imagine#daryl dixon x original character#daryl dixon x female reader#daryl dixon x you#daryl dixon x reader#the walking dead#the walking dead imagine#the walking dead fanfiction#the walking dead daryl#twd daryl dixon#daryl twd#twd daryl#twd fanfiction#twd#norman reedus#norman reedus fanfiction#norman reedus x reader
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lap girl (3)
summary. there’s no better position for daryl than when his girl is in his lap 😉🥵
warnings. smut, unprotected sex, handjob, cursing, fluff
MINORS DNI (18+), I DO NOT CONTROL YOUR CONSUMPTION ON THIS BLOG 👻
divider credits. @cafekitsune
prison
Her hips jolted in adjustment atop of his own, driving his cock deeper within the depths of her arousal glazed cervix, pulling a long drawn moan out from Daryl’s parted lips, as his eyelids fluttered in an abyss of euphoric peace. It was all he needed, to be within her, to feel her perfectly close, and he hadn’t needed to drive a hard bargain to have her crawling wantonly on his lap. Y/n’s fingers wove in his hair that had grown since the survivors of Woodbury had amounted to the numbers of the prison, relieving the stress that Daryl felt to provide for the increased population.
She was stressed too, working her ass off as she watched Rick potter about in his little farm, almost oblivious to the subsequent efforts the rest of them strived through to salvage supplies - he needed a rest though after everything, and this was y/n and Daryl’s own substitute of that. Their lips messily moulded together, drinking up the others escaping sounds, neither of them wanted to attract any peepers to their intimacy which was hard to come by with the afflicting chores that had to be completed.
“Ya feel so good girl.” At the sound of his gruff voice, y/n mewled lightly, burying her rolling-eyed face in his shoulder, as she wiggled insistingly against his lazy thrusts. It was midday, however despite that they were fuelled with the weakness of exhaustion, using the last of the energy that they had reserved for one another. “Thatta girl.” Daryl placed his large and rough hands on her hips, moving her in unison with his sloppy thrusts that somehow managed to hit the perfect spot even with his tired exterior.
“Dar-“ a yelp stifled in her throat as she clasped a hand over her mouth to block it from reaching any passing ears, as she chose to bite lightly on his still clothed shoulder, scratching lightly at his leather vest in sexual distress; her peak was coming closer and closer with each passing second, and so Daryl leaned back against the wall in their cell that was their escape from everything outside, and brushed his tingling fingertips against her angelic face. “I love you.” Her confession that had been spoken many times before came out as a whisper, as his heavy lidded eyes met her watery orbs.
“Love ya more sunshine.” Daryl muttered, his breath hitting her lips as he raised his hips so that it was easier to increase the pace in which his cock was moving inside of her, his head resting against the grey bricks that supported his position. “Gonna have ta pull outta ya soon.” He reminded her, watching y/n screw her face up at the concept, however it was the safest option considering Glenn and Maggie had used up the supply in the stores that were nearby to their location. “Ya gonna cum first girl, don’ ya worry.”
To emphasise his point, he reached his hand down so that the pad of his thumb was swirling disoriented circles around her clit, and y/n all but launched herself at him as she passionately joined their lips again, muffled moans spilling out occasionally for their lack of required air. “Fuck- I’m, I’m gonna-“ She had no time to finish her sentence as she threw her head back as a reaction from the rush that flowed intensely throughout her body, and Daryl leaned tentatively forward, chasing her lips, as he lifted her a little so he could pull out from her sweet cunt.
As soon as he did so, y/n in her fucked out haze grabbed his erection that was covered in her essence in her hand, stroking him at a desperate pace, biting his lip to catch the tracker off guard. “Shit.” Daryl closed his lustful blue eyes as his face became slack, all of the sensations that he was experiencing driving him wild. It wasn’t long before he came, spilling his seed across the expanse of y/n’s naked thigh, and he could finally catch his breath. “Ya jus’ can’t get ‘nough, I swear.” There was a dopey smile on his face, one that he reserved solely for his girl, and he caressed the back of her neck, before pulling her closer, until she was once again on his lap.
#daryl dixon x reader#daryl dixon smut#daryl dixon imagine#daryl dixon fanfiction#daryl dixon fluff#daryl dixon x you#daryl dixon x y/n#daryl dixon x female reader#daryl dixon fic#twd smut#norman reedus x reader#norman reedus smut#twd x reader#twd x you#twd imagine
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Pillow [Daryl Dixon x Female!Reader]
A/N: based on this…
Plot: Daryl walks in on you humping your pillow and offers an alternative.
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female! Reader
Warnings: Smut. Pillow jumping, face riding, language.
[[ Lemme know if you wanna be added or removed from tags; no questions asked ♥️ likes are amazing however I really appreciate Reblogs to help spread my writing further! Thank you 🌈😘]]
Tag List: @thegreatlarryfisherman @iraniq @snewsome756 @vikkikrash @amelia-in-w0nderland @pandaliciouz @crispyimagines17 @marie-is-blogging @bonniebird @nutinanutshell @louise-buchan @differentcatcat @madsadgenius @sycochick @kcthescreamqueen @phoenix-is-closer-to-the-edge @charlottewatkinsblog
—
The week had been tough and you needed release; you’d barely been able to wait until you were back in the seclusion of your shared house, knowing he wouldn’t be back for another couple of hours meant you had plenty of time.
You hadn’t closed your door because you didn’t want to waste the time and you’d started out fully clothed, rubbing over your pants, undoing the buttons and zip and dipping into the material to feel yourself and then slowly you’d stripped down to nothing, rocking your hips on a particularly firm pillow you’d cleaned up and repurposed.
You were so far into the feelings flushing through you that you didn’t hear him come back; your small moans wouldn’t escape the house but he heard them and quietly walked up the stairs; missing the two that squeaked.
Daryl stood watching you; your back to him as you rocked on the pillow and gasped, your hands moving over yourself and teasing your nipples. He watched as your head dropped back and you moaned a little louder. He discovered it was music to his ears and silently stepped into your room, placing his hands on your hips making you jump.
“Oh Jesus fuck!” You squealed and turned, panting. “Oh god! Fuck I…”
“Sweetheart… you’re far too pretty to be humpin’ your pillow… how about ya use my face instead?” His voice is low, rough from probably chain smoking through the morning and riding for the runs. His eyes are blown and he can’t take them off of you, you couldn’t decide if it was your ass or tits that held his attention as he squeezed at his crotch.
How long had he been stood there? What had he heard and seen? Why did the idea of him watching you like that turn you on so much more?
You run a hand through your hair and blink, sure you’d imaged what Daryl would feel like inside you but you’d never thought anything would come of it. He always kept to himself; his emotions especially so and he’d never given any indication he was interested. Had he? He did like being close to you and when you were told you’d have to share a house Daryl was quick to say he had a spare room; unlike many of the other houses.
“Uh… y-yeah… I mean I… we…” you stutter, failing to make a complete sentence.
Daryl crawls onto the bed and lays down, licking his lips and letting his eyes wander over you “c’mon baby doll.” His arms spread out for you to crawl onto him.
You move on the bed and do so, hovering over his mouth “c’mon… if I die I die… no better way to go out.”
You blush crimson and slowly lower to his mouth, rolling your hips a little as his tongue makes contact with you. Daryl’s hands gripped you and pulled you down fully onto his face, making him moan as he took in your scent and taste. His lips suck over you while his tongue explores every fold of your wet pussy; he mumbles and circles on your swollen clit, closing his lips over you and sucking in pulses while you rock your hips and find your rhythm.
There was no doubt his mouth felt so much better than the pillow and his hands on your skin felt electric.
“Tease yerself baby…” he hums and looks up at you, watching your hands move to your tits and massage, knead, pinch and pull. He moans as he watches you and rocks his hips in time with yours. Daryl groans and swirls his tongue over you messily, switching between kissing, sucking and licking you. His tongue pushes inside you and he expertly twists and curls it before moving back to your clit.
You pant and whine, careful not to be too loud as the houses were in disrepair and not as sound proof as they should be.
You reach a hand down into Daryl’s hair and he moans low against you, reaching his hand down to his pants and undoing them with ease to reach inside.
“Don’t stop…” you whisper and grind your hips down onto him.
“Good girl, ride my face…” he sucks over you again and watches you writhe; his hand wrapping around his free cock and jerking in rhythm with your movements.
Soon you were both panting and moaning out, louder than intended but it just felt so fucking good that you couldn’t help yourselves. Daryl twists his hand and tightens his grip, speeding up as your hips move faster and buck on his face. You gasp and pant harder “fuck… fuck Daryl…!”
He takes this to mean continue what he’s doing and sucks harder on your clit, pulsing around you while bucking and twisting his hips to his hand.
“Cum fer me…” he speaks against you “cover me…” his tongue flicks quickly and you grip his hair a little tighter, doubling over as you call out with release, he keeps licking and sucking over you making you tremble and babble. Daryl moans low and sucks hard on you with his own release shortly after; slowing both his hand and his mouth to a stop and helping you lay down beside him on the bed.
You lay panting, a hand running over your face and up into your hair “Jesus Christ!”
Daryl kisses you, his lips, tongue and scruff slick with your wetness. You kiss him back hungrily and moan at the taste of yourself on him.
“No more ridin’ pillows…” he speaks low, “Yer always welcome to ride me instead.”
You nod and chuckle “I didn’t realise it was an option until now.”
-fin-
#Daryl Dixon Smut#Daryl Dixon#daryl dixon x female reader#daryl dixon x reader#Norman Reedus#the walking dead#TWD#Norman Reedus Smut
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Imagine Daryl holding your hand for the first time.
The woods were quiet, the only sound being the crunch of leaves underfoot as you and Daryl followed the tracks of a deer. The air was fresh with the scent of pine and earth, a peacefulness that belied the tension simmering just beneath the surface.
Daryl, usually so sure and steady, seemed out of his element. His eyes darted to your hand, then away, as if the very thought of reaching out was a battle with his own instincts. You could almost hear his thoughts, a series of ‘what ifs’ and uncertainties that held him back.
The silence stretched on, punctuated by the occasional call of a distant bird or the rustle of wildlife in the underbrush. Daryl’s hand hovered near yours, a hesitant dance of shadows in the sunlight. He was a warrior, a survivor, but in this moment, he was also human, vulnerable.
Finally, as you paused to examine a broken twig, Daryl managed to build enough courage to make a move. His hand moved closer, slowly, deliberately, until his fingers brushed against yours. It was a fleeting touch, but it spoke volumes. And then, with a quiet determination, he laced his fingers through yours.
#daryl dixon#daryl imagines#twd daryl#twd#daryl x reader#daryl fanfiction#daryl x y/n#daryl dixon x reader#the walking dead#norman reedus#daryl x female reader
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Snitches Get Stitches | Young!Daryl Dixon x Young!Fem!Reader
Summary: Things were going great between you and your boyfriend. You adored each other and everyone in the trailer park could see how perfect you were for one another. Well, almost everyone. Daryl's brother and father seemed to feel otherwise.
Genre: Fluff, Angst.
Era: Pre outbreak.
Part of the Shopping Spree, Hangout Dreams universe.
Warnings: Swearing, sexual comments, Merle being an asshole, Daryl's father is a warning himself, abuse.
Word count: 2.2k
Requested by anon.
A/n: I created a little universe :) I didn't think people would like my young!Daryl stories so much, so thank you! I'm gonna start labeling my young!Daryl fics SSHD if it's part of that universe.
As always, my requests are open for any TWD requests, as well as Scud Frohmeyer requests.
—
It was late in the afternoon. The people in the trailer park were beginning to prepare to settle down for the night. Parents were calling their kids inside and people were returning from their jobs. However, beyond the trailer park and in the woods that surrounded it, you and Daryl were seated on the ground, basking in the peacefulness of the wilderness.
“Okay... I spy with my little eye, something blue.”
Daryl hummed and scanned his surroundings. “Tha' flower?” he guessed, nodding towards the flowers in front of you.
“Nope,” you shook your head with a grin.
“The berries?” he guessed again, pointing towards the bush holding the aforementioned berries.
“Try again,” you said with a smile, leaning your head against his shoulder.
Daryl wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer and tighter against his side. He rested his chin on top of your head. “The sky?”
“No.”
“Then wha' s'it?” he asked.
“Your eyes,” you whispered, leaning up to press a kiss against his jaw.
Daryl faked an annoyed groan, but the small smile on his face betrayed his true emotions. “Tha' ain't fair. I can't see my own eyes.”
“It still counts,” you shrugged.
“Whatever ya say, sunshine,” Daryl replied with a roll of his eyes, an affectionate smile on his face. “S'my turn now, righ'?”
“Yeah,” you nodded.
“Alrigh', then. I spy somethin' beautiful,” he said, placing a kiss to the side of your head.
You smiled at him. “Don't use my methods against me, Dixon. Is it me?”
“Ain't anythin' more beautiful here. 'Course it's ya.”
“You're cheesy, Dar,” you giggled, nuzzling your face into his shoulder.
Daryl smiled softly at the action, his heart fluttering in his chest. He placed a kiss on top of your head. “Only fer ya, pretty girl.”
You laughed softly before focusing on the flower Daryl pointed to a few moments prior. You withdrew from his hold and got up, picking it from the ground before sitting down in front of your boyfriend. You held the flower up to his face and smiled.
“It matches your eyes,” you said softly, your eyes flickering between the flower and Daryl. “But your eyes are still more beautiful.”
Daryl ducked his head as a blush spread over his cheeks. You smiled and reached to cup his cheek in your hand, gently urging him to look at you. His eyes met yours, and time stopped for a moment. His eyes flickered between your eyes and your lips, before he acted on his urge and leaned in to kiss you fervently.
You instantly reciprocated, deepening the kiss. Daryl's hand came to the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair as he pulled you closer. The two of you were lost in the moment, and the kiss would've gone on forever, had it not been for the fact that air was still a priority.
You pulled away first. You leaned your forehead against his and smiled, your breathing heavy from your previous actions. Daryl's hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb softly caressing the skin. However, the sweet, tender moment was interrupted when the two of you heard a rustle in the grass behind you.
Startled, you turned around in the direction of the sound, your eyes scanning your surroundings nervously. However, Daryl only placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, turning your attention back to him.
“Dun' worry. S'jus' a squirrel,” Daryl assured you, pointing up at a tree where a squirrel was seated, curiously watching the two of you.
You sighed in relief. “Sorry. I don't know why I'm so jumpy. It's not like it's the first time we've come out here.”
Daryl shook his head in dismissal. “S'alrigh'. Ya dun' have to explain yerself to me,” he reassured you, before getting up and offering his hand to you. “C'mon, tha' was probably a sign we should be headin' back. S'gettin' late.”
You took his hand and allowed him to pull you up. You interlaced your fingers and together the two of you made the short journey back to the trailer park. Sooner than you would've liked, you and Daryl were stood in front of your trailer. You turned to face him and gently cupped his cheek, your eyes filled with worry.
“My offer still stands, by the way. You can stay over. My mom won't mind,” you told him.
Daryl shook his head. He brought his hand up to grab your hand that rested on his cheek, kissing the back of your hand before letting it go.
“Nah, s'alrigh'. I've been stayin' over a lot recently. My old man's gettin' suspicious, and I dun' need him findin' out 'bout us. I dun' wanna risk the chance tha' he might hurt ya,” he replied, pursing his lips.
You gave him a tight-lipped smile and nodded, your heart beating faster in worry at the thought of Daryl having to return home to that sad excuse of a father. The two of you had been together for a good number of months and you had yet to officially meet his father, and you doubted that you ever would—and that was okay by you. You doubted if you could have a civil conversation with the man who hurt the guy you loved so badly, so Daryl's apprehension of you meeting his father was more than alright by you.
“Okay. Try to be safe, alright?” you responded, taking a step towards him. “I love you.”
Daryl smiled softly and leaned in to place a sweet, tender kiss on your lips. “I love ya, too,” he said when he pulled back, caressing your cheek softly one more time before turning around and slowly walking back towards his trailer home. You glanced at his back one more time before descending up the trailer steps and into your home, shutting the door behind you.
Unbeknownst to you or Daryl, the older Dixon brother had come to ask his younger brother's assistance in one of his escapades. He had waited on one of the benches in the trailer park for Daryl to make himself known, knowing that he made himself scarce from home during the day and only returned later in the day. But Merle was extremely surprised when he saw Daryl walk you back to your home, and even more surprised that the two of you had exchanged a kiss.
Merle hopped up from the bench and onto his motorcycle, speeding off into town to find a payphone. Merle wanted to confront his brother about you, but there was no way in hell that he was going to enter that godforsaken trailer ever again. A phonecall would have to do.
—
In the Dixons' trailer, the loud ringing from the phone interrupted the tense silence. Daryl, not wanting the phone to wake up his drunk and passed out father, quickly sprung up from his bed and darted out of his room and into the narrow hallway to answer the phone.
“Hello?” he whispered into the phone, his eyes nervously darting to his father that was passed out on the couch in front of the television.
“Hey there, Darylina. Mighty glad it was ya tha' answered.”
Daryl's jaw clenched at the sound of Merle's voice. “Merle,” he angrily grumbled into the phone, his hand gripping the cord of the phone. “Wha' the hell do ya want?”
Merle's laughter could be heard from the other line. “Now tha' ain't no way to talk to yer big brother, boy. Have a tad more respect, why dun' ya, huh?”
“Wha' do ya want?” Daryl repeated in frustration.
“Jus' thought I'd tell ya tha' I swung by earlier. I waited my whole life away waitin' fer ya to get back. Got quite the show when ya did.”
“Wha' the hell are ya talkin' 'bout?” Daryl inquired, confusion evident in his voice.
“Saw ya kissin' tha' girl. 'M proud of ya! Ya finally grew some balls and got yerself some pussy.”
Daryl could feel his blood run cold. His heart stopped beating for a moment and his eyes widened in shock. Merle had seen him with you. He was going to make your life a living hell now, more so than when you were just Daryl's friend.
“Cat got yer tongue, Darylina? Dun' go all quiet on me now, boy. Now tell me, is tha' pretty face any good in bed? She looks the type tha' knows wha' she's doin'. Probably fucked every guy in tha' trailer park fer all ya know, and yer jus' another one on her long list,” Merle taunted, a cruel laugh escaping his lips.
Daryl felt his blood boil. “Dun' talk 'bout her like tha'! She ain't some piece of meat or an object, so dun' objectify her. She ain't like those women ya fool 'round with when yer high or drunk. And she's so much more than jus' a pretty face. She's smart, kind, funny and she actually cares 'bout me. She's everythin' those women ya fuck ain't, and it clearly shows.”
Merle whistled on the other end of the phone. “Wha', yer tellin' me ya actually care 'bout her? Tha' this ain't some hit and run?”
“No!” Daryl exclaimed.
“I bet Dad doesn't know 'bout her, huh? Wha' would ya do if I told on ya, baby brother?”
“Fuck off, Merle. Go to hell,” Daryl responded before hanging up, his fists clenched in anger at his older brother. Never before had Daryl been so angered by Merle that he had wanted to punch him, but he had crossed a line. He brought you, Daryl's girl, into it. That was unacceptable.
“Ya done now, boy?”
Daryl froze in place. He slowly turned around and came face to face with his father, the man having an unreadable expression on his face. Daryl cowered instantly, his eyes darting to the ground to avoid his father's piercing stare.
His father looked at him before shaking his head, a wicked chuckle escaping his lips. Daryl shut his eyes in anticipation, knowing that the first blow to his face would come soon enough.
“Ya got yerself a girl?” he asked, taking a step towards Daryl.
Daryl instinctively took a step back. “No, sir,” he said quietly, refusing to look his father in the eyes.
Then it happened. His father's fist connected with his son's face, sending Daryl reeling backwards. Daryl quickly regained his footing, his face already throbbing in pain, but he knew better than to show it. His father would only hit him harder if he did.
“Dun' lie to me, boy. Ya think 'm deaf?”
“I ain't lyin', sir,” Daryl responded. “I ain't got a girl.”
His father hummed. “Jus' someone yer screwin', then? Someone yer tryin' to knock up?”
Daryl shook his head. “No.”
That was met with another blow to the face. Every question his father asked him that could potentially reveal who you were was met with refusal and denial, which inevitably lead to another beating. Daryl's father soon grew tired, the alcohol in his system taking its toll on him. He flopped back onto the couch, soon passing out again.
Daryl's body hurt all over. He was certain that there would be prominent bruises all over his body the next day and the cuts on his face stung, blood oozing out of them. When he was sure that his father was passed out again, he quietly left the trailer and walked over to yours.
He walked to the back of your trailer to where he knew your bedroom's window was. He quietly knocked on your window, hoping that you weren't asleep yet. He was relieved when he saw your lamp flick on and heard your footsteps approach your window.
You opened your curtains and saw Daryl outside, blood trickling down his face. You gasped and opened your window, helping Daryl climb inside. You gently ushered him over to your bed and urged him to sit down, heading to grab the first aid kit from the bathroom.
As Daryl watched you return and start to clean up his wounds, not pressing him to tell you immediately what happened, he knew that he made the right choice. He'd take a thousand beatings if it meant keeping you safe. You were his sunshine, and he'd do anything to protect you.
Even if it meant getting hit by his father to ensure you remained anonymous.
#krys writes .ೃ࿐#daryl dixon#daryl dixon x reader#daryl dixon imagine#the walking dead#daryl dixon x female reader#daryl x reader#twd daryl#norman reedus#norman reedus x you#norman reedus x reader#young daryl dixon#young!daryl#young!daryl dixon
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