#❧ 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝒶𝓇𝓀 𝑒𝓁𝒻 𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝑒𝓈

[dixonsdarkelf]

You're An Amateur (but Baby, I'm a Pro): Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Main masterlist Series masterlist Daryl x Reader masterlist AO3 link

Summary: During a run with Daryl, you find yourself a little sexy surprise and catch your new boyfriend with a look in his eye you’d never seen before. When leaving the department store, the last thing he said was you’d talk when you got home. Well now you were home, and it was time to have that talk…a talk that escalates into an experience you’d never forget.

Era: Alexandria, pre-Saviors

Genre: Fluff & smut, smut with feelings

Word count: 7.1k

Warnings: Smut, heavy on the MDNI, we got virgin!reader and a flustered Daryl in this one, Reader is in her late 20s/early 30s, virginity loss, oral (both f & m receiving), Daryl talks Reader through giving a blowjob, Reader has hair long enough to be held in a ponytail, next part will contain more smut, I'm incapable of writing smut without a lot of feelings, mentions of blood (in reference to blushing, i.e. blood rushing to your cheeks), pet names (angel mostly)

A/N: Hi so I’m super fucking anxious to post this. This is chapter 2 of my mini series "Last Christmas, I Gave You My...". Yes I know this is a Christmas fic and it took me like almost three months to write chapter 2 but ssh we're not gonna talk about that. This is also @dixons-sunshine’s very belated Christmas gift, and thank you to her for being my second set of eyes on it and convincing me to post it 🖤 This is only my second attempt at smut and my first x Reader smut, so please be gentle because I’m a sensitive bean. The title is from the song "Amateur" by Scene Queen (headphone warning should you choose to listen to it, which I highly recommend because she's one of my favorite artists).

The familiar scent of your home greeted you, encapsulating you in its warmth as you stepped inside. After a successful department store run with your new boyfriend for winter clothes, you were grateful to be back in the warm & cozy comfort of your home. You loved going on runs with Daryl, but as the cold that had only lingered at first made itself permanent, you were a little more appreciative of the warmth within the walls as you returned home.

“We did good today,” you mused, setting the bags you’d been carrying on your arms at your feet, “got really lucky.” You pushed the bags along the wall next to the door to clear the walkway. Your eyes fell to your backpack, a smirk forming on your lips as you envisioned the Santa babydoll lingerie tucked away inside.

Yes, you’d certainly gotten lucky. In more ways than one.

“Mhm,” Daryl mumbled, following close behind and letting the heavy door swing shut behind him.

Taking your coat and placing it on the hook, you watched the archer stride into the kitchen, setting a couple more bags on the counter. You admired his form, watching him pull some articles of clothing from a bag and started sorting them into piles. Whether they were divided by types of clothing, men’s and women’s, or some other method, you couldn’t tell.

You took some time to observe him, trying to calm your mind as it wandered in all sorts of directions. The tension between you was thick, the unspoken words you knew were coming hanging heavy in the air. There were things to discuss, things Daryl had alluded to back at the department store. Really, one thing—and it was on both of your minds.

This was it. You were home, and it was time to have a chat.

“So…you wanted to talk?” Walking to the living room, you rested back against the couch. Casually throwing your bag at your feet, you bit you bottom lip, anxiously awaiting his response.

After a moment, he looked up from the shirt in his hands, setting it down haphazardly on top of one of the piles. “Hmm?”

“Back at the department store,” you reiterated, keeping your gaze on him as you leaned back further to get comfortable, “you said you wanted to talk.”

There were a few beats of silence, like he was thinking back to the encounter you were referencing, before he spoke again. “Right. Did say that, didn’t I?”

You answered with a nod, your hands interlaced in your lap, twirling your thumbs together to calm you ever-growing anxiety. A few beats of silence passed before he finally joined you in the living room. He sat at the opposite end of the couch, his leg almost immediately beginning to bounce. Like he was skittish. Like he was uncomfortable.

“So what did you want to talk about?” you inquired. You knew damn well what he wanted to talk about, but you left the floor open to him, hoping he’d steer the conversation in the direction you knew it was going.

Rather than responding with words, he nodded toward your backpack, clearly flustered. You nodded in understanding, wanting to approach the subject gently and not make him more uncomfortable than he already was. “You wanted to talk about the lingerie I found, right?” you inquired, tapping your bag with your foot.

“Mhm,” he mumbled, his eyes darting around the room, “more so the…other stuff ya mentioned.”

“About how I’ve been thinking about taking things further?” you teased, hoping maybe a little humor would lighten the mood. Despite the confidence in your flirtatious tone, your cheeks turned a baby pink. You trailed your fingers from his shoulder down his arm, your touch a whisper, barely there. “Having a little fun between the sheets with you?”

He didn’t say anything at first, just watched your hand travel down his arm. You felt goosebumps begin to form the lower you got, stopping at his forearm and drawing tiny circles on the inside above his wrist, all while keeping your touch light as a feather.

When he didn’t reply, you continued. “We’re adults, Daryl. Adults in a relationship, nonetheless.” You tilted your head to look at him, hoping it would encourage him to reciprocate the eye contact. “You can say the word ‘sex’. And we can talk about it.”

He responded with a flustered grumble, his gaze periodically switching between his feet and some random object in the kitchen. An exasperated sigh slipped from between your lips as you brushed fallen hair from your face.

“Daryl, I get that you’re nervous, but just talk to me. Please?” you asked. It came out more as a whine, like you were practically begging him to say something, anything. “Like I said before, I’ve been thinking about it. And I know you have to.”

“How d’ya know?” he wondered, finally ripping his gaze from whatever he’d been staring at to meet yours. His tone was curious, but something in it told you that he already knew the answer.

“Well for one, there was the way you were looking at me in the department store,” you recollected, your heart fluttering as you thought back to that moment. The way his eyes traveled over your body slowly, carefully, lingering over your curves a moment longer than the rest. The glint in his eye as he watched you fiddle with the soft fabric of the bodice…

You blinked rapidly a few times, shaking yourself from your daydream. “Second, I’ve noticed some…changes in you.”

He subtly bit his lip, his next question hesitant, like he was afraid of your answer. “What kinda changes?”

“I think you know what I mean,” you replied. Your fingers continued drawing those little patterns on the inside of his wrist, and you bit your tongue to keep yourself from giggling. “You’ve gotten much more confident with your hand placement…and I’ve been waking up with your morning wood pressed into my backside more and more in the last week.”

That sweet heat returned to his cheeks, pulling that sly giggle from you that you were fighting so desperately to push down. “There’s no need to be ashamed, Dar,” you assured, giving his wrist a tender squeeze, “it’s…hot.”

“Hot?” he asked, his tone indicating that he didn’t believe you.

“Yeah. You’re getting all worked up just by looking at me and letting your mind wander. That’s hot,” you repeated.

His cheeks flushed, the pinky-red shade steadily creeping down his neck. “Glad ya think so.”

“So….does that mean you’d like to…do something about it? The obvious tension, I mean,” you inquired.

He grumbled again, but less flustered this time, like he was starting to relax. “If you do…” he paused briefly, as if he was collecting his thoughts, “then yeah. Sure do.”

You were practically beaming, a warm feeling spreading through your chest at his admission. You tapped your foot, fighting to restrain the urge to giggle and kick your feet. But before anything was to happen, there was an important piece of information you needed to share.

“Daryl…there’s something you should know before we…” your voice trailed off, your words getting lost in the thick silence that hung in the air between you. You dropped your gaze to the floor, swallowing hard in some pathetic attempt to push your nerves down. “I…I haven’t…umm…”

Your words dwindled away, but that didn’t matter. He knew exactly what you were hinting at.He finished your sentence for you. “Ain’t done nothin’ like this ‘fore?”

All you could do was nod sheepishly. Hearing him say the words out loud somehow felt like a gut punch. Made it real, made it something you couldn’t hide from him anymore. Not that you intended to hide it from him, but if you said you weren’t worried about him finding out, you’d be lying, and you were no liar.

For what felt like hours, the two of you sat there, the only sounds being your breathing and the ticking of the clock on the wall. After a minute or so, he finally spoke up.

“No shame in that.” The statement was meant to be reassuring, but it did little to comfort you.

“Then why are you being so quiet?”

He shrugged, unconsciously drumming his fingers his leg. “‘M’surprised someone like yourself hasn’t experienced that.”

The butterflies in your stomach were working overtime, and your mind was heading full-speed in all the worst directions. “What do you mean?”

He turned his body toward you slightly as he spoke, resting an arm across the back of the couch, fingertips barely grazing your shoulder. “Someone so…beautiful, kind…someone people like so much.”

You didn’t fight back the grin this time, letting it stretch from ear-to-ear, internally laughing at yourself for worrying he was going to say something much worse. You should’ve known better. “Guess I just…never met someone I was interested in enough. That I was attracted to enough.”

“And now ya have…and you’re sayin’ that person’s me?” he asked, his words coated with a hefty layer of skepticism.

“Yeah.” You paused briefly, only long enough to lift your eyes to look at him. “I am.”

He stifled a chuckle, his smile widening, and he even looked a little proud. “Guess I’m honored.”

Your giggle permeated the awkward silence. “You should be.” Though his sentiment offered you some reassurance, there was still one question plaguing your mind. “It’s not like….off-putting?”

“Ain’t sure why it’d be off-puttin’.”

“I don’t know, just…it’s been off-putting to people before. Because I “wouldn’t know what I’m doing”,” you clarified, using air quotes at the end of your sentence.

“Like I said, no shame in that. First time for everythin, right?” His fingers that had been only previously grazing your shoulder traveled closer, lazily caressing the crook of your neck.

“I guess that’s true.” Adjusting your foot, you accidentally knocked your bag over. During the whole conversation, you’d forgotten it was there, but you never stopped thinking about what sexy little surprise was tucked away inside. “Should I go put it on?”

“Do you wanna go put it on?” he asked.

“Yes,” you affirmed, “do you want to see me in it?”

The half-mumbled “mhm” he responded with left you uncertain. You hadn’t been official with Daryl for more than a few weeks, but you’d know him for much longer, long enough to be able to tell when something was bothering him that he wouldn’t confess. “If you’re uncomfortable, I don’t have to.”

“S’not that.”

“Then what is it?”

“Just don’t want ya to feel like ya gotta.”

You sighed and shifted closer to him on the couch, fully closing the space between you and resting your hand on his leg. “Look, I may be nervous, but I want this, Dar. I want you.” You kissed his cheek, his tanned complexion growing hot under your touch. “I’ll be right back.”

You took your backpack and swung it over your shoulder, giving him a playful wink before making your way upstairs to your shared bedroom. Your heart was pounding in your chest, rattling your ribcage. The butterflies in your stomach were activated by both excitement and anxiety.

You laid the lingerie out on the bed, flattening it smooth and taking a moment to admire it. You couldn’t believe how lucky you’d gotten. You’d been itching to talk sex with Daryl, to take thing further with him physically, for some time now. But you needed that last little confidence boost to push you to do it, and it seems today, you’d gotten that push. It had to be a sign.

Your shirt came off first, followed by your bra. You slipped the babydoll over your chest, hooking the back and adjusting yourself in the cups. The flyaway bodice swayed around your hips before stilling, the fluffy trim at the bottom tickling your soft skin. Sliding off your jeans, you kicked them into the corner of the room near the beat-up plastic laundry basket, lastly removing your panties and tossing those in as well. You took the satin red thong and slipped it on, adjusting it to be more comfortable—as comfortable as a G-string could be, at least.

You admired yourself in the mirror, doing a few twirls, watching the satin catch the light. You had wanted this. God, you had wanted this for so long. Wanted him for so long. All that aside, you would’ve been lying to yourself if you had said you weren’t at least a little bit nervous.

“You can do this, Y/N,” you whispered, taking a deep breath and watching your chest rise and fall in your reflection, “it’s Daryl. You’re gonna be just fine.”

You stepped slowly out of the bedroom and down the hallway, the chilly wood quickly warming under your bare feet. The creaking of the floor boards caught his attention, turning to you as you approached the top of the stairs, his striking cerulean eyes scanning every inch of your form. Slowly, carefully, drinking you in like you were a fine wine he wanted to savor.

You were a blessing to every single one of his senses, and he hadn’t even laid a finger on you yet.

“What do you think?” you asked. Anxious energy aside, your award-winning smile broke through as you twirled before him, letting the mesh material swirl around you in a red haze. The way your hair cascaded around you, the twinkle in your eye so bright that he could see it from his place on the couch, your bare ass hidden only behind a thin layer of mesh…

He was enthralled.

Without so much as a word, he was on his feet, moving toward you at a speed that surprised even him. At the top of the steps, he took you in his arms, his hands quickly finding your waist and caressing your sides over your lingerie. You looked deep into his eyes, and beyond all the nerves, apprehensive words, and flustered grumbles, you saw something pure, unfiltered, and heavy—desire.

“Beautiful,” he whispered against your lips before capturing them in a searing yet tender kiss.

He lifted you by the waist, slowly walking you back until you were up against the wall. You wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers playing with the ends of his hair as he set you down. When his hands found your waist again, they slowly traveled north, his touch light as the kiss deepened for a brief moment before he broke away. You pouted, already aching to have his lips on yours again and his tongue in your mouth.

“Can I touch ya?” he asked, his forehead resting against yours. His hands came to a rest under your breasts, the fluffy trim a surprisingly erotic yet welcome sensation against his skin.

Taking a moment to look him over, your already lust-blown eyes darkened further, your chest heaving as you gasped for air. All of the pent-up energy you’d been storing for weeks—hell, months—was pouring out of you faster than you could gain control of it. A soft and mumbled “Christ, yes” spilled out before you pulled him in again, the tip of your tongue teasing his bottom lip, begging for entrance.

He seemed a little surprised at the gesture but obliged, parting his lips enough to allow you in. You chuckled softly into the kiss, tongue exploring his mouth and swallowing every sweet sound he made. Given how surprised he seemed, you figured he had assumed you weren’t well-versed in the world of making out either. But you’d had plenty of heated sessions and got up to some bumping-and-grinding back in the day

You were a virgin, not a saint.

He cupped you over the satin, the swell of your breasts pressing against his fingertips as you inhaled deeply, your chest heaving. You swallowed his groans as he explored you, first just holding, then squeezing, and finally slowly beginning to tease you through the silky fabric. Your nipples hardened, creating small peaks that showed under the cups, and a moan slipped past your tongue as you arched into him further. That moan alone could’ve sent Daryl toppling over the edge.

Fuck, that sound was delicious.

Daryl moved closer, trapping you between him and the wall. You felt something press against the softness of your thigh, and it certainly wasn’t his leg. You giggled softly, amused by just how quickly the illustrious archer got aroused. Like it wasn’t exactly the same for you.

“Do you want some help with that?” you teased, grinding once on his hardness and feeling it twitch against you. You suppressed your own sounds of pleasure, already aching to feel him again.

He hissed though gritted teeth, fighting the growing urge to grind back. “Dun’ want ya to feel pressured into it.”

“I know there’s no pressure here, babe. I want to.” Whatever blood in your body that wasn’t circulating its way down to your core was collecting in your cheeks, the light pink quickly changing to a fire-engine red as your gaze fell to his feet. “Wanted to for a long time.”

He smirked, your reassurance seeming to further break through what remained of his flustered state as he questioned you with a teasing tone. “How long?”

“Long before we got together,” you confessed. Your body relaxed against him, the admission of your sinful thoughts feeling like a weight off your shoulders. And fuck, did it feel good. “Do you want it?”

You looked back up at him, eyes darker and pupils blown out with desire. He bit his lip, trying to subdue the remaining nerves creeping their way into his chest. “Yeah...yeah, I do.”

As your lips warped into something between a smile and a smirk, you took his hand in yours, interlocking your fingers before slipping out from between him and the wall. Pulling him gently behind you, you walked into your bedroom, trailing him over to the bed until he was backed up against it.

Your next sentence came out somewhere between an order and a tease. “Then sit down & let me take care of you.”

It was a promise you were sure to keep. And he knew that too.

Capturing him in another kiss, your hands found his chest, slowly gliding lower to where he needed your touch most. He groaned into the kiss as your fingers found his belt buckle, fiddling with the cool brass and hearing the metallic ‘clink’ as it came undone. You tugged slightly, pulling it free from the restraints of the his belt loops and blindly tossing it somewhere on the floor behind you.

“Can I take these off?” you whispered against his lips as you broke the kiss, panting like you’d been holding your breath for hours. Your thumbs hooked into his loops, and he shuddered in pleasure at the thought of what was coming next.

“Gonna be hard for ya to do anythin’ with ‘em on,” he teased. Daryl didn’t often use humor to cope with nerves, but whenever he did, it never ceased to make you laugh. The gruffness in his voice was thicker, and you could tell—and feel—that his need was growing, both physically and metaphorically.

Finding the button on his jeans, you popped it open swiftly, quickly making work of the zipper. He twitched against your hand, and you chuckled in amusement at just how badly he wanted you. Tugging on his jeans, they fell to his ankles, leaving his erection hidden behind nothing but the sheer fabric of his raggedy old boxers.

“These too?” You played with the elastic waistband, one hand remaining on his hip while the other traced patterns down his thigh, his muscles tightening under your delicate touch. You knew they had to come off for him to get what he wanted, but you wanted that consent every step of the way.

“Mhm,” he assured, that subtle pink returning to his cheeks again.

With a playful grin, your fingers danced over the elastic band, dipping under slowly and dragging them down. You pulled them around his erection, slowly releasing them and trailing your touch up his thighs again.

He swallowed hard as they hit the floor, looking like he wished said floor would swallow him whole. Your eyes immediately fell to it, watching it bounce slightly in the aftermath of being sprung free. You knew Daryl was insecure about his body for a variety of reasons, though in your mind, there was nothing for him to be insecure about. He was attractive, scars and all…and his shaft was no exception.

“You look beautiful, Dar,” you complimented, batting your lashes as you locked eyes with him, “you don’t have to be shy.”

The pink in his cheeks spread to his ears at your words of affirmation, his signature half-smile pulling at his lips, threatening to break free. Daryl never took compliments well, you’d always known that, but he’s gotten better over time. At least with compliments that came from you.

You pressed firmly on his chest, encouraging him to sit at the edge of the bed. As he sat, you drank in the sight of him for the first time. He was slightly bigger than average, veins bulging out on all sides, the tip already beginning to leak pre-cum. You swallowed hard, both to calm your nerves and to keep yourself from drooling at the appetizing human before you.

Lowering to the floor, you settled between his legs, propping yourself up on your knees and sitting back. You steadied yourself with your hands on his thighs, pressing on his knees to encourage him to spread them further. Your touch was electric, and he tensed under you, like if he was too relaxed, his pleasure would overtake him & it would be over before it even started.

His breath hitched at the sight of you—eyes sparkling, hair framing your face, flushed cheeks, and those lips…god, those beautiful lips. You were everything he wanted—needed—and more. Fuck, he had prayed for you, and he hadn’t even realized it.

“Could you talk me through it? Tell me what I should be doing?” You weren’t naive, you knew how blowjobs worked. Hell, you’d even practiced on a dildo a few times before the outbreak. But you wanted to hear what he liked, wanted to hear his voice as it continued to thicken with desire. Wanted to hear him struggle to speak the closer he got to release. The thought alone was creating a small pool of arousal in your panties.

“That what ya want?” he wondered.

You shrugged, your blush deepening from embarrassment. “Well, yeah. I don’t want to make a complete fool of myself.” You looked down briefly between his legs before locking eyes again. “You know I’m not gonna be able to take the whole thing, right?”

“’S’more than okay.” He brought his hand up to cup your face, his thumb softly caressing your cheek. “We’ll take it slow. Ya get overwhelmed, even a little, jus’ tap my thigh. Promise you’ll do that?”

“I promise,” you confirmed.

“And ya ain’t gon’ make a fool of yourself.” A breathy laugh escaped him as your skin grew hot under his hand. “Can assure ya m’gonna enjoy every second of it.”

You swallowed softly and nodded, his words of reassurance providing some comfort. “Can you hold my hair?”

He didn’t respond at first, rather just gathered your hair in his hand, forming a makeshift ponytail with his fist as the hair tie. He gently guided you forward until you were almost full aligned with his throbbing length before speaking again. “Ya good?”

You nodded and gave him a soft smile. “I’m great.”

He smiled down at you, happy to know you were comfortable. “Jus’ start with your tongue first,” he encouraged, “take it easy. No pushin’ yourself. Dun’ gotta do that for me.”

When your tongue met his sensitive flesh, he gasped, his head falling back as a deep groan followed. You moved onto him slow, swirling around and lapping up the drops of pre-cum that had collected at the tip. You took your time exploring him, feeling him, moving your tongue carefully like you wanted to memorize every vein, every ridge, every single detail of him.

You looked up to gauge his reaction, watching as his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth fell open. The sounds dripping off his lips were unbridled, sinful, and damn near pornographic. Every sound he made went straight to your core, your own arousal becoming difficult to contain with the simple G-string you wore.

If he wasn’t using every fiber of his being to hold back, the sight of you alone would’ve made him come undone on the spot.

“Good,” he praised, his grip on your hair tightening every so slightly, “keep goin’, angel.”

After a few more passes of your tongue, your lips enveloped around him, sucking the tip before slowly moving down and taking more of him in. He fought to keep himself still, the desire to thrust, even just a little, building in his chest with every passing second. But this was your first time, and he wanted it to be special for you.

“Open your mouth more,” he groaned through gritted teeth, and you quickly obliged, opening your jaw further as you took more of him in. You got about halfway before your body threatened to gag, so you stopped there, trying not to push yourself like Daryl had said.

He opened his eyes to take in the view of you, and there weren’t words for what the sight between his legs was doing to him. You, eyes glistening with his cock in your mouth, drool bubbling around the edge of your lips, looking up at him, eager to listen to his every direction, brought up feelings in him he’d never experienced before. “There ya go, Y/N…jus’ like that…”

Your blush intensified at his praises, the dark shade akin to the satin cups of your lingerie. You slowly, carefully bobbed your head up and down, swirling your tongue around him as you moved, sucking the tip as you pulled almost all the way off.

“Harder.” He didn’t intend for it to slip out like a demand, but it had, and it was a demand you were happy to comply with. You followed his order as you continued to move, making sure to swirl your tongue and keep your jaw wide.

He said no pushing yourself, but you wanted to try. When you slid back down onto him, you went further, taking just a little more of him in and causing you to almost gag. But you fought it back, catching yourself before the gag slipped out. His grip on your hair tightened again, eliciting a pleasured groan from you, every sound wave vibrating against him. His moans grew higher in pitch and more rapid, his chest rising and falling faster, his resolve to not thrust into you beginning to dwindle.

He was right on the edge, seconds from toppling over.

A stifled “tongue, baby,” was all he managed to choke out before his release hit him like a tidal wave. Hot, sticky ropes shot to the back of your throat, causing you to gasp and cough softly as he pulled out.

His body writhed as he came, white-knuckling the sheets as he spilled onto you. You continued to cough softly as you watched him, his head falling back and the vein in his neck bulging as he clenched his jaw, moans and groans slipping between his teeth. Watching him squirm like that because of pleasure you delivered sent a tingly sensation straight to your center.

He stared down at you through half-lidded eyes, watching as you coughed and cleared your throat after swallowing nearly every drop of him—every drop that landed in your mouth, at least. The sight of you before had been ethereal, but that combined with having his cum on you? Downright appetizing.

“How was that?” you wondered, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand and licking it clean.

He tasted good.

Oh wow, he tasted good.

“Ya sure ya ain’t never done this ‘fore?” He had his hands placed on either side of him to steady himself, his words coming out between frantic pants as he tried to catch his breath.

You chuckled softly, flattered that your amateur skills pleased him so much. “I’m sure.”

“Then you’re a pro at followin’ directions,” he smirked, his breathing still rapid as he rode out the aftershocks of his high.

“Well, there’s plenty more where that came from,” you laughed.

You stayed like that for a minute, caressing his legs as he came down from the peak of pleasure and leaving small kisses on his upper thigh. His grip on your hair slowly loosened, locks falling between his fingers. You rested your head on his knee, staring up at him and tracing delicate patterns on the opposite one. After he fully relaxed, he eyes met yours again, smiling softly as he watched you.

“‘S’your turn,” he offered, extending a hand out to help pull you up, “if ya want it, I mean.”

You grinned at the gentlemanly gesture and took his hand. “Mhm,” you agreed, slowly rising to your feet, “just a little nervous is all.” Your gaze fell to the floor, your voice softening, words coated with vulnerability. “Worried you might not like what you see.”

The last sentence broke his heart. He hated to see you—someone so stunning, so confident, so absolutely perfect in every way—think so low of your body. “Can ya look at me?” he asked, putting an index finger under your chin and slowly lifting your head to meet his gaze again. You did so hesitantly, but when you locked eyes with him, a feeling of ease washed over you. His tone was calming, and the honesty in those stunning baby blues, and his words, soothed you. “M’gonna love what I see. Because it’s you.”

Blood rushed to your cheeks again, and despite the urge to look away, you maintain eye contact. Rather than going the self-deprecating route, you chose to believe him, hoping that if anything was truly a problem or a bother, he’d let you know.

“We’ll start slow, yeah?” He sat on the bed again, moving back and patting his leg, encouraging you to sit on his lap. “C’mere.”

Your small grin quickly widened, stretching from ear-to-ear as you stepped over You climbed on and straddled his legs, wrapping your arms around his neck. “This good?”

“’S’great,” Daryl confirmed, His hands found your hips, moving under the flowing bodice, fingers splaying out and barely touching your ass.

He initiated the kiss this time, his tongue quickly pleading for entrance. Subconsciously, you began to move, first rotating your hips in small circles. As you progressed, you began to grind on him, desperate to feel his touch, his friction, his heat where you needed it most. As the kiss deepened, you grew more frantic in your movements, grinding faster and gasping each time the satin came in contact with your clit. Sensing your desperation, Daryl kept you in place with one hand on your hip, the other slowly traveling to your thigh, creeping inward.

He didn’t even need to ask before the words came pouring out your mouth.

“Touch me, Dar,” you begged, tone breathy and your words barely a whisper.

“Ya s—“

You cut off his question with a single word, pleading with him to give you what you were craving. What your body and every single one of your senses was craving.

“Please.”

Pulling your panties to the side, he dragged his index finger through your sensitive folds, causing you to shudder and shake against him before he’d even grazed your most sensitive spot. Had you not been in the writhes of pleasure, you’d almost be embarrassed at how wet you already were.

“Feelin’ good?” he asked, more so a tease than a question.

You nodded, a soft whimper slipping from between your lips as you pulled him back in for a kiss. He swallowed that whimper and each one that followed, two fingers now hooking under your panties and finding your clit, working with expert precision.

A sharp gasp flew from your throat, the pleasure almost overwhelming as he circled you slowly, drawing it out to tease you, to make you feel good for as long as possible. The callousness of his skin against your swollen bud was intoxicating.

As the proverbial knot in your stomach tightened, you struggled to maintain the kiss. It was all becoming too much, every one of your senses overwhelmed and starting to blend together. Your head fell to the crook of his neck, your hips moving in circles as you ached to feel more.

“Need your tongue,” you moaned against him, fingers digging into his shoulder blades, like you thought you would lose your balance and fall over if you didn’t cling to him.

He tapped on your hip, fingers slowing on your clit as you picked your head up to look at him. He searched your eyes for doubt, and when he didn’t see any, he continued. “Ya sure? Dun’ want ya to feel like we’re rushing’ anythin’.”

You nodded emphatically, like you couldn’t answer fast enough. “I want it. Please. I need it,” you practically begged. You brought your arms around, hands cupping his face as your thumbs brushed his high cheekbones. “I need you.”

And that’s exactly what it was. It wasn’t just the pleasure you were searching for—it was experiencing it with him.

He smiled and peeled one of your hands from his face, kissing your palm softly before trailing one down to your wrist. He gently lifted you off, helping you sit next to him.

You moved on the bed, the soft plush of the blanket on your skin a soothing comfort to the nervous energy quickly building within you. Adjusting your position, you laid back, inhaling deeply as you played with the trim of your bodice. Your mind wandered to all sorts of unpleasant outcomes, and although you had craved this moment, dreamt of it, for months, your nerves were starting to get the best of you.

“Ya good?”

His voice cut through your worry like a hot knife through butter, and you met his gaze again, swallowing to suppress the butterflies trying to creep up your throat. “Yeah. I’m great.”

“Ya sure, angel? Lookin’ a lil’ more than jus’ ‘nervous.’”

You nodded, but the look in your eyes indicated something more. “It’s nothing I haven’t already shared. Like you said, there’s a first time for everything, right? And nerves and such, they come with that.”

“Jus’ no pushin’ yourself, remember?” he insisted. He brought a hand up to hold your cheek, pulling you in slightly and kissing your forehead. It was a tender gesture compared to what you had just been begging him for.

“I remember, Dar,” you affirmed, giving him a two-finger salute and eliciting a laugh from him, “no pushing myself, I promise.”

Thumbs hooking into the sides of your G-string, you lifted your hips. He slowly pulled them off, sliding the now sopping material over your knees and ankles, letting them fall to the floor at the foot of the bed. You parted your legs, laying your head back on the pillows and taking a deep, shaky breath. You could feel his eyes on your center, drinking you in, and you bit your bottom lip.

Sure, he’d just been touching you, but now he was seeing you, and those were two very, very different things.

He climbed back up to you, kissing your forehead once more when he saw the blush that started in your cheeks creep down your neck. “Don’t got nothin’ to be shy ‘bout,” he reassured, “you’re gorgeous.”

You blinked your eyes open, meeting his, and the look in them was soft, promising. It pulled a grin from you, albeit a small one. “Told ya we’d take it easy,” he reminded, echoing his earlier words, “ya wanna stop, jus’ tap my head.”

“I can do that,” you replied.

You had zero intentions of stopping, though.

As he walked to the end of the bed and settled down. “Now just lay there ’n look pretty.”

He hooked his arms under your legs, pulling you closer to him and eliciting a giggly gasp from you. His hot breath ghosted your aching flesh, spiking your arousal. He started slow, placing feather-light kisses up your inner thigh until he was just shy of your core, repeating the same on the other thigh. Each one sent little sparks through your entire body, and you fought to keep from squirming. Those kisses trailed to your heat, still feather-light, like he was afraid you would fall apart if he pressed just a bit too hard.

Well, you would fall apart, but not in the sense of you being fragile.

And as his tongue made contact with your slit, dragging through your wetness slowly, a sultry moan rose from the depths of your chest, slipping out before you could do anything to stop it.

He flattened his tongue, repeating the same gliding motion from bottom to top, drawing the motion out over your clit. Your eyes began to roll back, and you squirmed against him, forcing him to tighten his arms around your thighs to keep you in place.

His fingers felt amazing, but his tongue was euphoric.

You arch your back, pressing into him, wanting—no, needing—every bit of pressure possible against your swollen bud. Even a split second without his touch felt like hell, and you began to grind against his face, desperate for more.

“Fuck, baby,” you moaned, words spilling out like a filthy prayer.

Threading your fingers into his hair, you tugged softly, hips bucking instinctively. He chuckled against you, the vibrations channeling straight to your clit. Your mind was clouded, tunnel vision focusing on your pleasure as every other thought blurred together and faded into the background.

For a brief moment, you pried your eyes open and looked down at Daryl, nestled between your legs and going to town on you like you were his last meal. He worked with a precision and voracity you’d never seen before. He was determined to make you come, to be the first to give you that taste of ecstasy you’d only given yourself. He wanted to taste you. He wanted to consume you.

He wanted to devour you like a starved man.

As your head falls back again, his tongue penetrates you for a brief moment, dipping in and out of your entrance before making quick work of your clit again, flicking and lapping the sensitive bundle of nerves. Somehow, no matter how much pressure he applied, it was never enough—you needed more, more, more.

“C-c-close,” you choke out. tears welling in the corners of your eyes. The pleasure was almost too intense, too overstimulating, too much.

With that, he dips his tongue in again, deeper this time, wriggling it inside you. Your walls flutter around him, squeezing him. He thrusts his tongue a few times, looking up briefly to watch your squirm, your mouth fallen open and face contorted in pure ecstasy. Abruptly, he pulls out and presses his lips to your clit, sucking hard.

And it pushes you right over the edge.

The knot in your stomach snaps, and your release crashes over you, your back arching sharply as you spasmed against his face, coating him with your release. Every cell in your body was singing, vibrating in ways you’d never experienced before. You continued to grind on him, your hips bucking against your will as your body sought to prolong your pleasure. Your grip on his hair tightened, pulling him into you further.

That was far better than any orgasm you’d ever given yourself.

He continues to taste you through your high, his tongue slowing as you came down from the peak of pleasure. His licks turned into small flicks, which turned into kisses. After a minute, he stood up, crawling into bed next to your relaxed form. You looked beautiful laying there—chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath, your body still twitching as the aftershocks rolled in, completely spent with a dazed look in your sparkling eyes.

You didn’t look at him at first, just continued to stare at the ceiling, blinking occasionally and waiting for your breathing to return to normal. You could see him in your peripheral, rolling over onto his side to face you and propping himself up on one elbow, his fingers finding a chunk of your hair and twirling it absentmindedly. The flush that started as a glowing red faded to a dull pink, and you swallowed, the fog beginning to lift from your mind.

“That good?” he asked, reaching out to tuck a lock of stray hair behind your ear. Though his tone indicated teasing, he was being genuine. Of course he wanted to know how your first experience was. He wanted to make sure you felt good & you were happy. And he certainly checked both of those boxes.

His finger in your hair broke you from your stupor, and you turned your head to him, meeting his gaze. You smiled softly, and his signature half-smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he observed you in your blissed-out state.

“Good? Holy shit,” you sighed, giggling faintly. You pulled him down by the collar of his shirt and kissed the tip of his cute little button-nose, “best head I’ve ever gotten.”

He chuckled softly, almost in protest. “Ya dun’ got nothin’ to compare it to.” He threaded an arm under you, pulling you against him and wrapping his other arm around you to hold you in place, creating a little nest of sorts. A nest of comfort.

“I don’t need to to know it was the best. Because it was you,” you assured, locking eyes again as you relaxed further into him, a content sigh slipping through your lips, “we continue later?”

“Only if ya wanna,” he replied, reaching up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear, taking his sweet time doing so. Just like he always did.

You nodded, the motion barely noticeable as you yawned against him, burying your face in his chest. “Right now, I just want to snuggle with you.”

And as you lay there, bundled up in his nearly-suffocating warmth, your eyes fluttered closed, another yawn escaping you. The cozy atmosphere and post-orgasm relaxation lulled you into a peaceful slumber, Daryl holding you the entire time.

General taglist: @raddydaddydude @lovenormandixon @angeldemoncrowley @negansbestie @holdmytesseract @dixons-sunshine @tinysunshine

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[dixonsdarkelf]

‘Cause They Ain’t You: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Main masterlist Daryl x Reader Masterlist AO3 link

Summary: Upon arriving at Alexandria, your husband becomes the target of a group of rather flirtatious women, and you find the whole thing rather comical. But Daryl has some concerns, and they aren't just about himself.

Era: Alexandria, pre-Saviors

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 638

Warnings: No use of y/n, some mild swearing, we got wife!reader in this one

A/N: Me? Posting three times in one week? Insane. Unheard of. Will likely never happen again. This is my take on this post/prompt from @darylsdelts (see screenshot below). I don't feel like this is my best work, but it's cute & I had fun writing it.

“‘S’not funny,” Daryl groaned, taking a seat next to you on the front porch. He ran a hand through his hair, brushing some chestnut locks from his eyes as he stared down the path, glaring at a woman who’d just been all over him despite his protests.

“What are you talking about?” you teased. You gently nudged him with your elbow, your gaze shifting from the dissipated group of women down the way. “I think this is hilarious.”

You’d met Daryl years ago, falling in love and getting married long before the downfall of the world. You two were attached at the hip. going on runs together and barely spending a moment apart. It was obvious to everyone that you two were together. However, since arriving within the sanctity of the walls of Alexandria, several of the women had taken quite a liking to your rough-and-tumble redneck, acting on their desires whether they didn’t know you were married or did know and simply didn’t care. They were all over him, incessantly flirting until Daryl was red in the face. Whether that hue was from anger or embarrassment, you couldn’t be sure.

What you were sure of, though, was that he hated it, and he knew you found it hysterical.

“It’s kind of amusing to me,” you laughed, playfully stroking his arm, mimicking the behavior of the women you’d just watched fawn over your husband, “they see us walking around all the time, going home together to the same house every night, matching rings on our fingers, and they still haven’t put two and two together.”

“Need to learn to back off.” He fiddled with the hem of his shirt sleeve, a scowl forming on his lips as he ripped off a loose string.

Your eyes softened as you looked at him, a worry beginning to creep up in your chest. While you found the whole thing humorous, you hated to see him getting so worked up over it. “I mean, if it really bothers you that much, you should say something,” you suggested, but you knew that was easier said than done. Anyone who spent even five minutes around Daryl knew he was socially awkward. Hell, when you first met him, it was like pulling teeth to get him to say a word. Admitting he was uncomfortable to people he barely knew, to put it lightly, would be a struggle.

“‘S’not me m’worried ‘bout,” he clarified.

You cocked an eyebrow. “Then what is it?” Your eyes darted across his face, searching his features for answers. As realization struck you, you tilted your head slightly in his direction, hoping it would coax him into eye contact. “You’re worried about me?”

His nod was small, but it was enough confirmation for you. “Dun’ want ya gettin’ all upset ‘bout it.”

“Aww, Dar.” You rested your hand on his lower back, drawing small circles on the bit of skin that peeked out above his belt. “I’m not upset about anything.”

“Ya ain’t bothered?” he inquired. He finally lifted his head to meet your gaze, a hint of curiosity and doubt in those stunning cerulean pools. Although he knew you’d never lie to him, especially if something was bothering you, he worried you were playing up the hilarity for his sake.

You sighed softly, your award-winning smile on full-display in an attempt to comfort him. “No, of course not. Why would I be? I know I’ve got nothing to be worried about.”

“Certainly don’t,” he reiterated, “‘cause they ain’t you.”

Those four simple words sent your heart into a fit of flutters. “You’re sweet,” you gushed, resting your head on his shoulder and looking up at him, a sparkle of adoration in your eye, “I love you.”

He chuckled softly, the sweet sound like music to your ears. “Love ya too.”

General taglist: @raddydaddydude @lovenormandixon @angeldemoncrowley @negansbestie @holdmytesseract @dixons-sunshine

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[dixonsdarkelf]

Not An Invitation: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Main masterlist Daryl x Reader Masterlist AO3 link

Full title: This is not an invitation (fuck you mean you need it?)

Summary: Shane never knew when he wasn't welcome in someone's space, and he was often invading yours. After one time too many, a certain archer comes to your defense. Inspired by the song 'Invitation' by Ashnikko.

Era: Season 2, Greene Farm

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: No use of y/n, swearing, Shane being a major-league creep

A/N: Not a whole lot to say about this one other than I'm obsessed with this song & couldn't stop thinking about this idea, so I brought it to life. We love protective!Daryl in this house. I hope you like it! 🖤

“I told you to leave me alone,” you protested. The anger you’d been able to keep at bay thus far threatened to bubble over, simmering just below boiling point under the surface. You were usually the more relaxed one in the group—calm, level-headed, and rational. You hated confrontation and aimed to avoid it at all costs. But you’d had enough.

Shane took a liking to you from the moment you arrived at the farm. He’d often find ways to get close to you, even if what he was supposed to be doing was nowhere near where you were. You’d told him to scram on more than one occasion, usually under the guise of needing to scamper off to do your chores.

One thing about Shane, however, was that he didn’t know how to take no for an answer.

“All I said was you’re lookin’ good today,” he repeated. With an eye roll heavy enough to nearly roll your head back with it, you rose from your spot on the porch and started walking away, knowing the asshole deputy was close behind.

“That isn’t all you said, and you know that,” you snapped, not so much as turning your head back to look at him as you kept walking. He’d said far more than just that, as he often did. His other commentary made your stomach churn, and it was enough for you to not ever think of repeating it.

“C’mon, it’s just a little harmless fun,” he sighed, picking up his pace to catch up to you. You swallowed hard and kept your eyes on the field in front of you. The only one having fun in this situation was him.

“Hardly call it harmless,” you scoffed. You heard him catch up to you, but before he could get close enough to reach for your arm, he was, as he would have put it, “rudely interrupted.”

Your saving grace approached from your peripheral, slipping past you without a word to confront the man on your heels. He stood between you, not quite completely shielding you from Shane’s prying eyes, but close. You couldn’t see, but you pictured his beautiful, piercing baby blues searing through Shane. It brought a hint of a smile to your face to know that, of all people who could’ve come to your defense, the handsome archer was the one.

Daryl Dixon was the quietest one of the group, often keeping to himself in his tent on the outskirts of your makeshift campsite. You’d heard him equated to a feral dog, minus the possible rabies. He was more than just a little rough around the edges, but you saw right through it. You knew there was more to the man behind the crossbow.

Shane had taken a liking to you, but you had taken a liking to Daryl.

“Think she said to back off,” Daryl cut in. You looked up at him. eyes traveling from his chestnut locks to his broad shoulders and up to the beads of sweat forming on the back of his neck. Some would say it was from the heat. Others might say it was from anger.

“Don’t think I was talkin’ to you, Dixon.” Having been a cop in the old world, Shane was used to bossing people around without any back talk. His voice was rigid, sharp enough to slice through anyone who got in his way. Except for Daryl.

“Dun’ think she was wantin’ to talk to ya,” he repeated, more stern this time. He held his crossbow firmly in his hands, 

You’d never seen him use it on anyone in the group

When Daryl didn’t so much as flinch, Shane took one last look at you before walking off, his tail between his legs. You hadn’t realized that every muscle in your body tensed up, but the moment Shane was out of sight, you relaxed, quickly steadying yourself. Once you did, you went to turn to Daryl, but during your moment of unsteadiness, he’d pondered off. You would just have to thank him later.

Later that afternoon, after all your work had been completed, you wandered over to Daryl’s tent, half-expecting him to not be there. Yet there he was, carving a stick into a bolt for the thousandth time. You ran a hand through your hair to brush it out of your eyes before gathering the courage to get close enough to talk to him. Once you were only a few feet away, he looked up at you, those gorgeous pools of blue making your heart stop.

This was the closest in proximity you two had ever been while alone.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to spook you,” you said, your voice timid in comparison to your usual confidence. You had no evidence that you’d spooked him, but you were nervous, and not knowing what else to say to start the conversation, that’s what came out.

“Dun’ get spooked,” he replied, focusing his attention back on the stick in his hands. The movements of his knife were fluid, easy, like he’d done it so many times, he could do it in his sleep. It was simultaneously attractive and terrifying.

“I, umm…” your voice trailed off, the whole monologue you’d prepared in your head being dwindled down to two simple words as your nerves took over, “thanks, Daryl.”

He looked back up at you again. “For what?”

“For earlier,” you explained, “for what happened with Shane.” You lowered yourself slowly, hesitantly, as if you were still deciding whether or not to sit down despite doing so. You made sure to keep your distance as to respect his personal space.

“Wasn’t nothin’,” he assured, pausing his handiwork, “asshole’s bein’ a creep. Someone had to put ‘em in his place.”

A small smile graced your lips. “Well, if meant a lot to me.” He simply nodded and continued what he was doing, but you weren’t finished. “He said a lot worse, y’know? You just weren’t around for that.”

Daryl’s gaze scanned over you, like he was trying to read between the empty spaces of your words, eager for more details but not pressing. He’d known Shane for far longer than you had, and he was well-aware of the kind of shit he’d said to women in the past. The thought of him saying such vile things to you made him sick, but he kept his expression stoic, same as always.

You echoed your earlier words, your voice thick with emotion. “So…thank you.”

“Dun’ mention it,” he reassured. For a brief moment, you thought you’d caught a glimpse, a tiny hint, of a smile from the archer. However, it was so quick, almost like a glitch, and you couldn’t be sure.

“Do you mind if I stay here for a while? I don’t exactly feel like going back to the others yet,” you confessed. 

“Long as ya promise to be quiet,” he teased, “had enough yappin’ from Sheriff Shithead already.”

You chuckled softly and dropped your gaze for a moment before meeting his again. For a brief moment, his heart stopped, taking in the stunning sight and sound in front of him. Your laugh was like music to his ears. “I can do that.”

The silence between you was soft, comfortable, the only sounds around you being the birds in the trees and his knife scraping across yet another stick. And you sat just like that for hours, not bothered that barely a word was exchanged.

General taglist: @raddydaddydude @lovenormandixon @angeldemoncrowley @negansbestie @holdmytesseract @dixons-sunshine

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[dixonsdarkelf]

Words of Affirmation: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Main masterlist Daryl x Reader Masterlist AO3 link

Summary: After you’re taken in by a group occupying West Georgia Correctional, you’re sent on a run with a particular archer. Much to his dismay, you try to strike up a conversation, and one little interaction leads you to wonder if those feelings you'd been bottling up may be reciprocated.

Era: Season 3, Prison era

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: Swearing, I'm pretty sure that's it!

A/N: Thank you to my angel @dixons-sunshine for beta-reading for me & helping me with the parts where I felt stuck 🖤 This one was giving me a lot of trouble, and I still feel kinda eh about it. I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

“What’s your love language, Daryl?”

The fresh-fallen leaves crunched under your boots as you skipped along, doing your best to keep up with your rough-and-tumble companion. Crisp autumn air swirled in your lungs as you inhaled deeply, a sense of peace that you hadn’t felt in ages washing over you. Aside from your voice and pairs of footsteps, the world around you was still. Even the birds were quiet, only an occasional chirp-chirp piercing the silence.

“The hell ya goin’ on ‘bout?” Daryl groaned. He didn’t even so much as turn to look as you strode up next to him. You exhaled softly, trying not to take his stinging tone personally.

You knew he hadn’t wanted you to come along. In the short amount of time you’d known the archer, one thing had become abundantly clear—he preferred solitude, and he didn’t like that solitude being intruded upon. But when someone needed to go on a run with him, Rick chose you, saying that since you were new, Daryl could “show you the ropes”.

“The new girl?” he’d argued. “Ya serious?”

“Show her how we do things,” Rick ordered, hands on his hips. “You’re the best one for that job.”

Rick was right. Daryl was the best one for the job, so despite his protests, he agreed. Though you knew he didn’t want you to join, you weren’t complaining.

Daryl had caught your eye from the moment you’d sprinted through those gates, running from a horde of walkers far bigger than you could’ve anticipated. He was beautiful—unkempt chocolate locks framing his face, toned, sun-tanned arms that made you drool more than any meal ever had, and crystal blue eyes so deep, you thought you’d drown if you looked at them for too long. But that didn’t stop you from sneaking glances.

Daryl only had two rules for you on this run—keep up & don’t talk. And now, you were already deep into breaking one of those rules.

But rules were meant to be broken, right?

“Your love language,” you repeated, more persistent this time. “What is it?”

He shrugged, crossbow held tight against his chest. His gaze remained straight ahead, scanning the area for walkers as you continued down the secluded dirt road. “Dunno what that means.”

You pursed your lips in thought, the furrow in your brow reflecting the confusion in your mind. Surely, someone so beautiful had to be well-versed in the world of romance. The man was sculpted like a God, and anyone with working eyes could tell that he was gorgeous. “Love languages are...” your voice trailed off. “…different ways people like to receive affection. Everyone has their preferences.”

“Ain’t exactly one for affection,” he snapped, intentionally kicking up dirt as he walked, as if that would somehow prove his point.

“Come on, Dar,” you teased, crossing your arms over your chest. You skipped a little in front of him and spun around, forcing him to finally make eye contact. “Everyone has at least one.”

At first, you’d started calling him Dar because you assumed it was a nickname of his. But he quickly made it clear he didn’t appreciate it, and that only spurred you on more. But sometimes, there’d be a glint in his eye. A little twinkle of mischief that made you wonder if he actually liked it. Even just a little bit.

As you met his gaze, that same glint was present. However, it was quickly overshadowed by his calloused response.

“And I ain’t everyone.”

Ignoring his clear signs, you pressed on, walking backwards as you continued your spiel. “The five main ones are physical touch, acts of—“

A sound in the trees caught your attention, cutting you off. But before you could react, Daryl spun around, crossbow aimed at what you both had presumed to be a walker.

Instead, it was a squirrel. The sweet creature had gotten a little too confident about jumping from one tree to another and had fallen. They shook it off for a moment before scrambling to their feet and scampering off, leaves crunching below them.

As the adrenaline began to wear off, you’d noticed something. Daryl had stepped in front of you, just a little, as if he was ready to act like a shield between you and whatever was coming your way. His bow remained locked and loaded, held high like he was waiting for another sound or for a walker to stumble out from behind a tree.

Why would he do that? He had no reason to. You were a stranger to him–a nameless face among all the other nameless faces roaming around the prison. So, what reason did he have to protect you?

Once he was sure there was no imminent threat, he lowered his bow and continued down the road, barely waiting two seconds for you to catch up.

“As I was saying,” you continued, skipping back up to his side, “there’s physical touch, acts of service, words of affirmation, receiving gifts, and quality time.”

“There one where ya dun’ talk ‘n stay silent the rest of the run?” Daryl scoffed.

“Ha ha.” You rolled your eyes, your tone bone-dry. “Very funny, Dixon.”

After a few beats of silence, much to your surprise, he spoke up. “What’s yours?”

You were more taken aback by his question than anything. And his inflection—one that sounded like he was genuinely curious—perplexed you even more. Was he really asking a “get-to-know-you” question? Daryl Dixon, the man who self-isolated on a good day & was aggressive with others on a bad one, continuing a conversation? It was unheard of as far as you were concerned.

You took a moment to collect your thoughts. “Honestly, words of affirmation. Being told how much I mean to someone, how much they care for me…even little things, like a ‘you did good’ on the small stuff.”

“How come ‘s’that one?” he asked.

“It feels good to know even the little things I do are appreciated,” you elaborated. Your eyes were fixated on some falling leaves in the distance, watching them twirl around each other, almost touching but keeping their distance—barely out of reach. “It makes me feel special. Seen. Like the things I do actually matter.” You looked up at him, squinting to shield the sun from your eyes. “And in a world like this….well, it feels like it means more. Makes me want to keep going.”

He didn’t reply, but simply nodded, understanding evident in his eyes.

The remainder of your walk was spent primarily in silence, but now, it was far from awkward. Things were comfortable, like it was natural rather than forced. The silence that previously pricked at your skin now felt like a warm hug, the desire to fill it slowly slipping away with each step. And out of the corner of your eye, you thought you spotted a hint of a smile tug at his lips.

The run went as smoothly as ever. You cleared out damn near what was left of the convenience store, just enough room in your respective bags to fit what you could find. At one point, you even cracked a joke, eliciting a scoff, with a soft, underlying laugh from him.

And the walk back was much the same—a comfortable silence with an occasional quip from you, which mostly resulted in an eye roll or huff from Daryl. Aside from a few walkers, nothing gave you too much trouble.

Later that evening, after you’d returned from your scavenge and had begun settling in for the evening, there was a soft knock on your cell, the unexpected clanking of metal causing you to jump. Turning around, you were surprised to see Daryl. The bar creaked under his shoulder as he propped himself against the doorframe.

“Jesus, you scared me!” you exclaimed, placing a hand on your chest. “But hi. What’s up?”

He didn’t speak at first, nor did he make eye contact. The tension in the air was heavy, growing thicker with each passing second. You watched him scratch at the broken skin around his thumbnail, a light cock in your eyebrow forming. You’d never seen Daryl fidgety, so…nervous, it seemed.

“Nice job today, Y/N,” he said with a small nod. “Ya did good.”

Just as your racing heart had started to slow, it ramped up again, faster than before. The rumble in your stomach from hunger warped into butterflies, flapping violently and threatening to crawl up your throat.

“Huh…” you mused, crossing your arms over your chest, using every fiber of your being to keep your demeanor calm, cool, and collected. “Didn’t even realize you knew my name.” Your gaze briefly dropped to the floor before meeting his again. “But thank you.”

He shrugged, mimicking your posture and crossing his arms. “Dun’ mention it.”

“Does this mean I can join you on the next one?” you smirked.

“Dun’ push it,” he huffed, rolling his eyes.

A small smile pulled at the corners of your mouth as his gaze met yours. It was only for a few seconds, but it was long enough for goosebumps to form on your skin and a shiver to travel down your spine. He was the first to break it, diverting his eyes to the floor.

You broke the silence with an awkward clearing of your throat, softly shaking your head like you were trying to direct your mind away from the direction it was headed in. “Goodnight, Daryl.”

With another small nod, he sauntered off, dragging your cell door closed behind him. His heavy boots echoed through the otherwise silent concrete halls, trailing off until it was only you & your very loud thoughts.

And as you crawled into bed and drifted off to sleep, you visualized the grumpy, brooding archer, thought of the way the ice had started breaking between the two of you, and you fell asleep with a contented smile.

General taglist: @raddydaddydude @lovenormandixon @angeldemoncrowley @negansbestie @holdmytesseract @dixons-sunshine @tinysunshine @stellar-waves @chateaujoon @mediocrxtes @angelsanarchy @8stliv8 @dixonsbridexx @cuntee3

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[dixonsdarkelf]

Mr. Brightside: Daryl Dixon & Fem!Reader

Main masterlist Daryl x Reader Masterlist AO3 link

Summary: Since the start of the apocalypse, you'd never taken a moment to relax, always preparing for what could come next in the form of staying up late on watch and never taking a single sip of alcohol. Now, the group had arrived at Alexandria, giving everyone an opportunity to unwind--including you.

Era: Alexandria, pre-Saviors

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 1.08k (this started as a drabble but I can never stfu so here we are lol)

Warnings: Swearing, drinking, Reader is in her mid-20s at least, Reader isn't blackout drunk but she's drunk enough to not give af about how goofy she's being

A/N: This is just a little something I came up with after they continually played Mr Brightside at the gym a few times. This wasn’t originally supposed to be the next thing on the docket, but I couldn’t get it out of my head, so I had to make it happen. Reader is tipsy enough that she doesn’t care that she’s acting like a goof, but she’s not drunk enough that she’s slurring or stumbling over her words, if that makes sense. Apologies for not really being around lately. Life has been life-ing & I’m doing my best. Any asks, messages, tagged content, etc. will be answered soon. Thank you for being here 🖤

“It started out with a kiss! How did it end up like this?”

Your voice carried through your open living room window, tipsy lyrics standing out against the infamous vocals of Brandon Flowers. A few passerbys stopped to stare, some snickering to themselves and continuing on their way, while others stuck around, eyebrows cocked and looking uncertain. Soon, a few turned into several, then several turned into a small crowd. And that caught the archer’s attention.

“T’hell’s goin’ on?” he mumbled, kicking up dirt as he picked up the pace to a speed walk. The group forming outside your home didn’t mean anything good, as far as he was concerned. He could barely make out what you were saying, your words blending into a cacophony of chaos.

“It was only a kiss! It was only a kiss!”

As he got closer, the loud barrage of noises morphed into coherent vocals, and the joy in your voice was enough to provide him some relief. At least you weren’t in trouble.

“But she’s touching his chest now! He takes off her dress now!”

“S’a damn play-by-play?” He clambered up the steps of your front porch, now able to make out the music underneath your singing. He watched you move back and forth between the gap in the curtain like you were running in circles.

What the hell were you getting up to?

He swung the front door open, the handle hitting the wall with a ‘thud’ before bouncing off. Peering into the living room, he spotted Maggie and Michonne on the couch, leaning back with goofy smiles on their faces and watching you put on the performance of a lifetime. You were traipsing around the open space, alternating between various arm twirls, silly little kicks, and swinging your hips to the beat. His baby blues drifted from you to an open bottle of merlot on the coffee table.

Ah, yes. There was the answer to your unbridled chaos.

The floorboards creaked under his boots, pulling the ladies’ attention away from their evening entertainment. “What’s she—“

“She’s all yours,” Maggie interrupted, resting her glass next to the now-empty bottle.

As they stood up, his gaze darted back and forth between them, then to you, then back to them. “When’d this start?” he asked, nodding in your direction.

“About twenty minutes ago,” Michonne explained. The trio watched you prance in circles, balancing the glass in your hand and managing not to spill a drop despite your inebriated state. “First, it was Jolene, then the Cupid Shuffle—twice. Now it’s Mr. Brightside. She’s been belting it since the song started.”

“Could hear ‘er halfway down the damn street,” Daryl scoffed, a hint of laughter laced throughout.

You spun close to the record player in the corner, your hand almost colliding with its wooden plinth. “‘Cause I just can’t look! It’s killing me!”

“Good luck, Dixon,” Maggie teased, following Michonne to the front door. “You’re gonna need it.”

He rolled his eyes playfully, scoffing again. “The hell ya think got me this far?”

As the two women let themselves out, you danced toward him, taking another sip from your glass. A small drop dribbled out of the corner of your mouth and down your jaw to your neck. You were unfazed, though, looking up at him with the biggest grin he’d ever seen on you and a twinkle in your eye that gave the stars some hefty competition.

“Ya been drinkin’, Peach?” he asked, pretending he didn’t already know the answer. He wiped away the stray drop with his thumb, his calloused skin heaven against yours.

“Ssssh.” You pressed a finger to his lips, tapping it a few times like that would emphasize your point. “You’re interrupting my song.”

The look on his face was the perfect mix between fond and flabbergasted. “Gotta lotta damn nerve there, sweetheart.”

You continued your impromptu karaoke session, ignoring his attitude. “Jealousy! Turning saints into the sea!”

“Jus’ gun’…” He carefully plucked the glass from your fingers, ensuring your grip didn’t tighten around the bowl before pulling it away and setting it down next to Maggie’s. But not before swigging the last of it back for himself.

For your sake, of course. You were cut off for the evening.

“Swimming through sick lullabies!” You swayed before him, shifting back and forth from one foot to the other with a light bounce in your step. You looked at him expectedly, hoping he would join you, even though you knew he wouldn’t. “Choking on your alibi!”

As much as Daryl wanted to scoop you up, carry you off to bed, and prepare to help you nurse tomorrow’s impending hangover, he didn’t move. Didn’t dare take a single step from the sight of you before him, giggly and flushed and at ease–something he’d never seen before. The smile on his lips was small, barely noticeable, but it reflected a wide, toothy grin in his eyes.

From the day you met Daryl back at the quarry camp, you’d been on edge, wary of every person you came in contact with and ready to jump into action at a moment’s notice. Since arriving at Alexandria a few days prior, you’d been very high-strung—more than normal, somehow. You’d barely taken a deep breath since stepping within the sanctity of the walls and refused to touch anything other than water. Hell, you barely touched that.

Alert at all times, you’d been saying for months. No distractions. Gotta be ready for anything at any moment.

Now here you were, loose and carefree, like there weren’t hundreds of walkers outside. Like you hadn’t been walking around as a complete anxious mess since the outbreak started. Like things were stable. Like you were stable.

Watching you finally relax and unwind, having one of the simplest human experiences–drinking a little too much and singing a little too loud–was everything.

“Least ya havin’ fun,” he mused, leaning on the wall and crossing his arms, propping one foot up behind him. His boot would surely leave a dark print behind, but that was future Daryl’s problem.

“But it’s just the price I pay! Destiny is calling me!”

His chuckle was sickly sweet. “Oh yeah? What’s it sayin’?”

“Open up my eager eyes!” you sang through a fit of giggles, disregarding his question. For your grand finale, you lunged into his arms, dipping yourself for extra dramatic effect. “'Cause I’m Mr. Brightside!”

Daryl couldn’t help but laugh, the sound warm and hearty as you threw your head back. “Ya sure are, sunshine.”

General taglist: @raddydaddydude @lovenormandixon @angeldemoncrowley @negansbestie @holdmytesseract @dixons-sunshine @stellar-waves @chateaujoon @mediocrxtes @angelsanarchy @sharkie06 @sa1nt-bambi

Certain characters taglist: @ddixonsangel @sweetsourgone @8stliv8 @cuntee3 @d1xonss @bigbaldheadname @tinysunshine @banshees-martin @cosmicamor @lightning-hawke @b0ssyboots @dixonsbridexx @darylgf @janiehellion @the-strangest-things

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[dixonsdarkelf]

Daryl Dixon & The Former Sex Worker Headcanons

Main masterlist Daryl x Reader Masterlist

I made a post about this like a month ago asking if people would be interested in seeing headcanons of Dary with a Reader who's a former sex worker, and I've finally gotten around to coming up with some lmao.

Tagging the people who said they would be interested in seeing this or asked to be tagged @trashandthangs @raewritesfiction @al-whatever 🖤

We are very sex-positive and pro-sex work in this house. If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say shit. Additionally, these are MY OPINION. If you disagree, that’s fine, but play nice. Also, tagging this with fem!, male!, and gn!reader because sex work isn't gender specific, and I tried to keep my language as inclusive as possible. To all the sex workers/former sex-workers out there, I hope I did y'all justice. If I did not, please do not be afraid to let me know & I will make corrections where it's necessary.

Warnings: MDNI, discussions of sex work (duh), mentions of slut shaming, derogatory words like whore/slut, mention of questions that could be deemed as insensitive, creepy men being creepy and saying creepy shit, swearing

➼ So first off, let’s be real. His only experience with sex workers before the outbreak was when Merle would take him to strip clubs or bring escorts around, so his only knowledge about the industry comes from him—not the best source of information.

➼ He’d have some questionable-at-best pre-conceived notions instilled in him by his brother. His view of the industry is rather narrow, and he’s not privy to all the different types of sex work there are.

➼ You talk to some of the other people in your group about your work in the old world, and eventually, word circulates. Daryl would hear passing comments from some of the men, calling you degrading names and putting you down. There’d be hushed whispers from them about how you must be “easy” or how experienced you must be.

➼ At some point, his curiosity would pique, and he’d go to the source—you—to see what all the chatter was about.

➼ You’d tell him about your work in the old world, and the more you told him, the more questions he would have.

➼ His questions would vary depending on the type of work you did. He’d be worried about his questions being too invasive or personal, but you’d assure him it was alright, only because it’s him asking.

➼ Honestly, he might be confused about how you ended up in the industry in the first place, depending on your reasoning. 

➼ He’d ask questions that come off as insensitive without intending to be—why you didn’t just get a “normal” job, find another way to make ends meet, take out student loans—all the questions dependent upon your reason for entering the industry.

➼ You’d explain to him why such questions were insensitive, and he would feel bad & do what he could to make it up to you afterwards.

➼ If you felt empowered by your work, that would take some time for him to understand. It’s not you, it’s the pre-conceived notions he has because of Merle. The way Merle always talked about sex workers was degrading, so he finds it hard to grasp how someone could be empowered in such a position.

➼ Daryl wants to know more, though. Wants to challenge those notions and work against what his brother so deeply ingrained in him. Because you’re not some “easy, cheap slut.” You’re you—bright, friendly, sunshine-y you—and you just happen to have done sex work before the outbreak.

➼ After his lengthy discussion with you (let’s be honest, maybe a couple of discussions), he’d become your most fearless advocate.

➼ Any time he would hear someone calling you names or making snide comments about you, he’d be up in their face, assuring them that there would be consequences if he ever heard them use those words about you again.

➼ Your safety is his top priority. He’d keep you away from anyone making comments about how they’d like “a chance with you” or to “see you put those skills to good use.” Once again, he’d get in the faces of those people and promise to give them two black eyes if they ever uttered shit like that again.

➼ As time went on, he’d occasionally have more questions about your past work, how it impacted your life, everything like that.

➼ Although you’d reassured him many times that it was okay to ask, he would still worry he was being invasive, but he’s not doing it on purpose. He just wants, and is trying, to understand.

Taglist: @raddydaddydude @lovenormandixon @angeldemoncrowley @negansbestie @holdmytesseract @dixons-sunshine @stellar-waves @chateaujoon @mediocrxtes @tinysunshine @cunttee3 @dixonsbridexx @angelsanarchy @8stliv8

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[dixonsdarkelf]

Carol: Wanna hear something really cheesy?

Y/N: Mozzarella

Carol: *chuckles*

Daryl: That ain’t—

Y/N: Cheddar

Daryl, exasperated: ’S’not—

Y/N, in a sing-song voice: Gorgonzolaaaaaaa!

Main masterlist Daryl x Reader Masterlist

General taglist: @raddydaddydude @lovenormandixon @angeldemoncrowley @negansbestie @holdmytesseract @dixons-sunshine

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[dixonsdarkelf]

Y/N, holding her hand up and getting out of her chair: I’m done with the conversation now.

Daryl: Sit back down.

Y/N: *folds immediately* I’m sat.

Main masterlist Daryl x Reader Masterlist

I can't blame Reader because I would fold too lmao 💀

General taglist: @raddydaddydude @lovenormandixon @angeldemoncrowley @negansbestie @holdmytesseract

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[dixonsdarkelf]

Daryl Dixon & The Weird Girl Headcanons

Main masterlist Daryl x Reader Masterlist

In which Daryl is dating the weird, off-putting girl who looks like she could lead a cult. As a weird, off-putting girl who looks like she could lead a cult, I felt called to do this one. I took this down the road of Reader having a creepy/spooky/witchy 'cult' vibe.

Saw this post from the lovely @bambidixon & came up with some headcanons. I hope y’all like them 🖤

Remember, these are MY OPINION. If you disagree, that’s fine, but play nice. I'm still new to doing headcanons, so please be gentle. I may add to this as time goes on.

Warnings: mentions of the following: cults (duh), death, bugs, spiders, taxidermy, animal bones, seances, ghosts/witchy shit

➼ Honestly, he’d be hesitant to approach you at first, wondering if perhaps you were in fact a cult leader in the old world. But he’d be drawn to that strangeness about you.

➼ After getting to know you, though, he’d come to appreciate all of your little quirks, and they’d be his favorite things about you.

➼ He’d be sure to pick and bring you any sort of half-dead or withered flowers he finds so you can dry and press them. He’d also bring you more unconventional plants like ivy, moss, and mushrooms.

➼ You’d decorate your home with all the plants he brings you—ivy hanging from the banisters and curtain rods, dried flowers in vases in the living room, etc.

➼ He would be incredibly protective of you. Not that he wouldn’t normally, but he knows a lot of people have some not-so-nice things to say about you, and he’d quickly put any of those people in their place.

➼ Being a weird, off-putting girl involves having some weird, off-putting interests, such as death, taxidermy, and entomology (the study of insects). Speaking of bringing you things, he’d collect things like animal bones and dead insects for you to add your collection.

➼ If you wore makeup, he’d love to watch you do it. Anything he comes to learn about makeup would be from you. He’d learn your favorite shades of eyeshadow (the dark colors of course) and while he might be intimidated by your black lipstick at first, it would eventually become his favorite shade on you.

➼ You’d make him gifts with your own little twist to them. You’d cut up scraps of fabric from old clothes and paint skulls and spooky things on them to make patches for his vest or jeans, carve astrological or witchy designs into a candle, or make him an ashtray shaped like a spider or beetle.

➼ He likes your style and how you’re not afraid to wear what you want and express yourself through your attire, the bullshit others have to say be damned.

➼ He’d let you paint his nails to match yours. He loves it, even if he pretends to do so begrudgingly.

➼ When going on runs with him, you’d joke that every house you passed was a ‘haunted house’ and talk about the times you did seances with your friends before the outbreak. He’s heard those stories more times than he can count, and he never gets sick of them.

➼ You love to play into the rumor started by some kids in the community that you’re a witch, and he thinks it’s hilarious.

General taglist: @raddydaddydude @lovenormandixon @angeldemoncrowley @negansbestie @holdmytesseract @dixons-sunshine @tinysunshine

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[dixonsdarkelf]

Aches & Pains: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Main masterlist Daryl x Reader Masterlist AO3 link

Summary: It's that time of the month, and your partner wants to help in any way he can.

Era: Alexandria, post-Saviors war

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 850

Warnings: no use of y/n, swearing, a little suggestive at the end, periods, blood (kinda? Like a brief mention of it? Reader has a uterus and is on her period), I think that’s it!

A/N: My second attempt at an x Reader fic! Please be gentle or I’ll cry, and I don’t think you want to be responsible for that, now do you? Thank you as always to @dixons-sunshine for proofreading/hyping me up 🖤

“Oh my god.”

The groan emanating from the deepest part of your chest echoed off the kitchen walls, further aggravating your already-pounding head. One moment, you were cutting carrots to add to the pot on the stovetop, and the next, you were doubled over the kitchen island, clutching your abdomen as you rested your face on the cool marble. The contrast in temperature to your searing skin provided some relief from the hot flashes plaguing your system.

A few minutes later, the front door to your home swung open, the autumn chill and sound of familiar footsteps greeting you. Your agonized moans quickly caught your husband’s attention, flipping his previous stoic demeanor to one of concern.

“S’wrong, sweetheart?” Daryl asked. He was quickly on you, planting a soft kiss on the back of your head and a tender hand on your shoulder.

“The cramps are bad this month, and my head is pounding,” you sighed, your voice barely above a whisper as another wave of pain washed over you, your breath catching in your throat, “the pain is radiating into my legs.”

“Anythin’ I can do?” He stood behind you, his calloused, work-worn hands softly pressing into your lower back, massaging in slow circles. The gentle pressure alleviated some of the pain, enough that you could comfortably breathe again. “Should prolly go lie down.”

You groaned again and looked back over your shoulder at him. “But dinner—“

“Can wait,” he insisted, cutting off what he knew would turn into anxious rambling. He kept the pace of the slow circles on your back, increasing the pressure ever so slightly, but still wanting to take it easy on you. “Ain’t gon’ have much of an appetite if I knew ya’s in agony when makin’ it.”

“I’ll be fine.” As if to put you in your place, another wave of pain rolled through, this one more intense than the last. You groaned through gritted teeth, the strained noises dripping off your lips absolutely breaking Daryl’s heart.

“How ya so stubborn in so much pain?” he asked. There was a slight astonishment in his voice, as if he himself had not also been incredibly stubborn in moments of suffering.

“Used to powering through. It’s what women had to do before the world ended. Still in the habit I guess.”

As you looked back over your shoulder at him, his sympathetic gaze met yours, the usual sparkle in your eyes dulled by the pain. “Don’t gotta worry ‘bout that now. C’mon. Ya layin’ down whether ya wanna r’not.”

Before you can protest, he’s gently pulling you away from the counter, scooping you up into his arms with ease. A soft giggle escapes you as you thread your arms around his neck, resting your head on his shoulder. Your soft giggle brought his signature half-smile out, and he planted a kiss on your forehead as he carried you up the stairs and placed you on the bed.

“Ya take anythin’ for the pain?” His gruff voice was silky, as it always was when he spoke to you. However, he was laying the silkiness on extra thick, like it would soothe your pounding head.

“Like an hour ago, but it’s done nothing.” You slowly moved down on the bed, the pillows below welcoming your head as you laid back.

“Gonna get ya some water,” Daryl said, tracing his thumb over your cheekbone and kissing your forehead again, “just lay there ‘n look pretty.”

A baby pink blush appeared on your cheeks. Whether it was because you were hot or you were flustered at his sweet compliment, he would never know. He bounded down the stairs, returning a minute later with a cool glass of water.

“You’re sweet, Dar,” you thanked. You shifted onto your elbows, turning yourself over slowly so you were resting on your stomach. “Can you keep rubbing my back?”

“Like ya even needed t’ask,” he assured, climbing onto the bed and straddling your legs. He quickly got to work on massaging the small of your back, his thumbs pressing in circles and slowly deepening the pressure as to not overwhelm you.

A deep, guttural sound, a mixture of gratefulness somewhere between a sigh and a groan, slipped from your mouth, muffled by your face buried in the pillow.. The soothing motions were already beginning to alleviate some of the tension. But the pain was intense, and you needed more than just a back massage. 

“Y’know, I dun’ know much ‘bout this kinda stuff, but I heard there’s a certain somethin’ that can help,” he commented, his tone still silky, but now playful and a little flirtatious. He didn’t need to say what he meant for you to know. After being married for two years, you knew that tone & its intentions. You chuckled softly, lifting your head and folding your arms underneath, resting your chin there. It was like he’d read your mind. “Oh yeah?” His hands slowly wandered lower, trailing down your hips and carefully cupping your ass, giving it a gentle squeeze. “And ya know I ain’t phased by a little blood.”

General taglist: @raddydaddydude @lovenormandixon @angeldemoncrowley @negansbestie @holdmytesseract

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[dixonsdarkelf]

Y/N: We got—

Y/N, waving to Carl: Daddy issues!

Y/N, about Daryl: Daddy issues!

Y/N, pointing to Negan: Chaos junkie!

Y/N, gesturing to Lydia: Mommy issues!

Y/N, referring to Judith: More daddy issues!

Y/N, waving in Spencer's direction: Obnoxious asshole issues!

Y/N, pointing at Aaron walking down the path: Then you—

Aaron: *startled, nearly drops what he's carrying*

Y/N: …you seem kinda weirdly...self-actualized, as far as I can tell.

Main masterlist Daryl x Reader Masterlist

That one audio from 'The Umbrella Academy' that was all over Tiktok ages ago

General taglist: @raddydaddydude @lovenormandixon @angeldemoncrowley @negansbestie @holdmytesseract @dixons-sunshine

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[dixonsdarkelf]

Y/N: Dar, can you go get Maggie for me?

Daryl: Yes ma’am *turns and walks away*

Y/N: *takes a deep breath, doubles over with her hands on her knees*

Rosita: Whoa, hey, are you ok?

Y/N, staring at the ground and nodding: Yeah, yeah I am. My…

Y/N: *takes another deep breath*

Y/N: My stomach just did the thing.

Main masterlist Daryl x Reader Masterlist

I get it because the 'yes ma'am' gets me every time

General taglist: @raddydaddydude @lovenormandixon @angeldemoncrowley @negansbestie @holdmytesseract @dixons-sunshine

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[dixonsdarkelf]

Birthday Girl: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Main masterlist Joel x Reader masterlist AO3 link

Summary: It's your birthday, and your partner treats you to a very special morning in bed—but he’s gonna make you wait for the best part.

Era: No outbreak AU

Genre: Smut, fluff, smut w/feelings

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: 18+ only MDNI, smut, unprotected p in v (I do not endorse--wrap it the fuck up homies), creampie, softdom!joel, no outbreak AU, Joel is so deeply in love, orgasm control/denial, edging, Joel makes you count every thrust, pick your Joel, Reader is turning 32 because I needed a number to count to, unspecified age gap but Sarah is in her freshman year of college, fingering, hella pet names, swearing

A/N: Since it's my birthday, I wanted to celebrate with a little something. This is my first time writing for Joel, and I hope I did him justice. And a MASSIVE thank you to my angels @dixons-sunshine & @millermouth for reading this again and again and again and helping me on the spots I got stuck 🖤 I wouldn't have been able to do this without you both.

The morning sun streamed in through your bedroom window, its golden rays warming and tickling your skin. With a sound somewhere between a yawn and a groan, you ran a hand over your face, brushing hair from your eyes before flopping your arm back onto the pillow with a soft thud.

You blinked your eyes open just in time to see a hummingbird flitter between the gap in your curtains. The little creature stopped in front of the morning glories adorning your windowsill, sipping on some nectar before flapping away, their jewel tones catching the light.

Your gaze traveled from the window to your calendar pinned on the wall. Every date before had been crossed out with a thick black X, and today’s date was adorned with a bright red circle and two words, all caps, in Sarah’s handwriting—Y/N’s BIRTHDAY!

Today was the day. The big 3-2.

You stretched your arm out across the other side of the bed, gliding over the emptiness of the space where your big, burly furnace of a man would usually be. You rolled onto your side and sat up, pulling the sheets up around your lap to keep you warm. Looking at the alarm clock on his nightstand, the numbers 8:45 stared back at you in glowing LED red. Later than you normally would’ve slept in.

Grabbing your phone off the nightstand, a text from Sarah momentarily flashed across your screen. Her enthusiastic “Happy Birthday! 🥳💖🥂🎉” was followed by a “hope my dad does something extra nice for you. If he doesn’t, let me know and I’ll be sure to set him straight.”

You suppressed a chuckle as you replied, saying thank you and inquiring about how her biology program was going. But as you were about to press send, the musings of a sweet Southern drawl made your ears perk up.

“Mornin’ sweetheart.”

You peered up to see Joel traipse through the door, your favorite pale pink mug in his hands. He was still in his pajama pants—the tartan ones you’d gotten him for Christmas last year—but his matching shirt was God knows where.

“Good morning.” You rested your phone back in its place on your nightstand, smile wide but still tinged with exhaustion. “How did you sleep?”

“We can talk about me later. First—“ He cut himself off, holding the steaming mug out to you. You carefully wrapped two fingers around the handle and manuvered it into your palm. On the surface, it appeared to be just another morning cup. However, a single whiff told you that this beverage was something special.

He’d somehow managed to replicate your favorite latte from a local shop. The familiar scent of their signature rose-vanilla syrup filled your senses, a giddy grin tugging at the corners of your lips.

“How did you…” you asked, your voice sprinkled with an almost child-like wonder.

He propped himself on the edge of the bed next to you, shrugging like the whole situation was no big deal. “Got the guy at the shop to sell me some.” He nodded back in the general direction of the kitchen. “Got enough for a few more.”

You glanced between him and the mug, then did the same again, bewilderment etched into your features. Countless times, you’d tried to get your hands on some of that syrup, all to no avail. Secret family recipe, they’d always say, and after asking everyone at least once, you gave up.

Must’ve been that Miller charm.

With a whispered but no less sincere “thank you,” you brought the mug to your lips, blowing on it just enough to let the steam waft away before taking a sip. You damn near moaned in satisfaction at the taste. The sweet tinge of vanilla and light floral from the rose complemented the rich depth of the espresso perfectly. “Wow, babe. You got it spot-on.”

“You seem surprised. Actin’ like I ain’t ever made coffee before.”

“Oh, shush.” You took another sip, allowing the caffeinated comfort to warm you from the inside out, before resting the mug next to your phone. “You know what I mean.”

“‘Course I do,” he mused, leaning toward you and eyes drifting to your mouth. “Happy birthday.”

The first kiss was soft, tender, his hand resting under your chin, his lips moving in perfect harmony with yours. It was sweet, filled with a love that’d been built after years of being together.

However, as they usually do in these situations, things quickly escalated.

His tongue tickled the edge of your lips, silently seeking permission to enter. You let him in, and he explored your mouth like it was new territory, like he hadn’t done it a million times before. He settled between your legs without once breaking the kiss, causing you to subconsciously arch into him.

“Joel…”

Hot kisses trailed along your jawline, stopping at the sweet spot just below your ear. He nipped lightly, and your breath hitched, shivers dancing down your spine. His other hand slid under your silk nightgown, parting your thighs just enough to give him access. You gasped softly as one finger traced your slit, teasing you before dipping between your folds.

“This is jus’ a lil' warm-up.” He chuckled softly as he added another, your eyes fluttering closed and your mouth falling open, slick already coating his fingers. “Seems like someone’s a lil’ warmed-up already.”

Your hips jerked involuntarily against his hand, his thumb continuously swirling figure-eights over your clit. You clung to him to keep yourself upright, nails digging into his bare shoulders like your life depended on it. Your breathy sigh of his name lingering in his ear, mixed with sighs of satisfaction, sent shivers down his spine.

His fingers curled inside you, hitting that deep spot that was already beginning to make you see stars. “Fuck…Joel, I—“

Your words caught in your throat, a lightning strike of pleasure silencing you mid-sentence. You bucked against his hand again and again, chasing your high. Each pass of his thumb drew you closer to the edge at an alarming, almost embarrassingly fast rate. But even then, it wasn’t fast enough for you. You needed more.

“Someone’s eager,” he murmured, lips tickling your helix as he curled his fingers again. “Already feel you gettin’ close.”

And you were. You were painfully close.

But just as you were about to topple over the edge headfirst, just as your walls threatened to flutter around his digits…he stopped.

You clenched around nothing as he pulled out, already aching from the loss of feeling and friction. Lazily blinking a few times—like you were checking to make sure you were still conscious—you stared at him through half-lidded eyes, watching as he licks his fingers clean. Each one was followed by a satisfied ‘pop’, but despite the delicious groan that rumbled from his chest, you couldn’t ignore the knot forming in the pit of your stomach.

The ancient bed frame creaked under you as you adjusted. Cupping his cheek with one hand, a sorrowful look in your eyes drowned out the lust present only moments before. “Babe…is something wrong?”

He smiled softly at your concern, fighting the urge to chuckle. His hand rested on top, fingers threading and settling in the spaces between yours. “Nothin’s wrong.”

The furrow in your brow practically asked your next question for you. “Then why’d you stop?”

“Like I said, sweetheart,” he explained, “that was jus’ the warm-up.”

The room grew ten degrees hotter in seconds.

Joel shifted quietly, his hand gently but firmly gripping your shoulder and urging you to fall back on the plush pillows. He was so big, so warm as his body eclipsed yours, and yet so gentle as he hovered over you. Before you could process what was happening, his flannel pants were on the floor, and the tent forming in his boxers pressed into your thigh.

Your tongue involuntarily darted out to wet your lips, now hyper-aware of just how parched you were. Swallowing in an effort to coat your throat, you met his gaze again—hungry and glossed over with desire.

“Now, baby,” he began, using one hand to work his boxers down, “I want you to do me a favor.”

You stifled a snort-chuckle. “You’re gonna make me work today of all days, Miller?” you quipped, sarcastic as ever.

“I’d argue you’re the one who benefits most.” One hand ran up into your hair, tilting your head back ever so slightly to ensure you kept your gaze on him. “You’re gonna count for me,” he instructed, his voice growing thick. “Every thrust, you’re gonna count. Out loud.”

The heat in your cheeks flared, your skin hot, and he twitched between your folds. “For how long?”

His boxers came off in one swift motion, the worn-and-torn cotton crumpling into a pile in some corner of the room. “Until 32. No comin’ ’til I say so.”

“Oh my god,” you chuckled with an eye roll, cheeks tinged with embarrassment. Despite your flustered state, his words shot straight to your core.

“Or I could just leave you hangin’.” He dragged his tip through your slick, teasing your entrance before repeating the motion and eliciting a hiss from you.

“You wouldn’t dare do the birthday girl dirty like that, now would you?”

He responded to your question with one of his own. “So you’ll be a good girl and behave then?”

“I’ll behave.”

And he knew you would. Because you always did.

Lining up with your center, he bottomed out with one painfully slow thrust, his tip nudging the sweet spot deep within you. You gasped involuntarily, hissing through your teeth as you tried desperately to maintain your composure.

That was one.

Only one.

“Go on, baby,” he encouraged. The hand in your hair formed a fist, and he tugged gently, pulling the sweetest sounds from your lips as he continued his ministrations.

“Two,” you sighed, voice quivering. You were already hanging on by a thread, and he’d barely gotten started. “Three. Four.”

The building tension in his voice from swallowing a grunt rang through his praise. “Good girl.”

Given your arousal, Joel moved with ease, the light burning of his thickness stretching you with each pass a welcome sensation. Your thighs began to tremble–lightly, barely, but just enough for Joel to notice. And you still had a long way to go.

Fuck, you were weak.

“F-f-five,” you stuttered, barely able to keep your words together.

“You already tremblin’, baby?” Joel grunted.

God, he loved how easily he could make you feel good.

“S…six…”

Your word trailed off, slowly fading into silence. Your gaze fell to the space between your bodies, watching as you took him again and again. His thickness was splitting you in half, slick and shining with your arousal every time he pulled out and slowly pushed back in. The sight was both obscene and beautiful. Which certainly wasn’t helping you hold back.

Seven. Eight.

“Y/N?”

He sounded far away, muffled, like he was underwater. Or maybe you were, with your head spinning and pleasure clouding every thought that tried to break through the haze.

Nine. Ten.

A soft, muffled ‘mmmmm’ behind tightly-sealed lips was all you managed to get out in response.

“Can you hear me?” One hand moved to cup your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheekbone, an awfully tender gesture given the nefarious nature of the situation. “You already too cock drunk to count for me, sweetheart?”

As your eyes remained locked on his cock, all you could do was nod.

Eleven. Twelve.

He shifted from your cheek to your throat, the other hand migrating to your lower belly and applying gentle pressure. He tilted your head back until you locked eyes with him. He didn’t squeeze your throat, just…held. Wanted to make sure you couldn’t turn your head away.

“Look at me.” His tone was firm, direct, yet somehow still tender. A man who could manage both was dangerous in the sexiest way. Another muffled ‘mmmmm’ slipped out, and the metaphorical cord in your abdomen twisted tighter with every nudge over that spongey spot that made you see stars.

Thirteen. Fourteen.

“You’re so quiet,” he acknowledged for the first time. “We’re all alone, baby. Nothin’ to worry about.”

His words don’t register at first, your mind clouded by arousal, the climbing pressure in your belly, and the soft gravel of his voice.

His next set of honeyed words pulled you up from the depths, the whisper lingering in the space between you. “It’s your day, princess. Can be as loud as you want.”

You’d gotten so used to having to stifle your sounds with Sarah home. You’d never let yourself be loud on account of fear of traumatizing the poor girl. But now, with her off enjoying her freshman year of college, you didn’t have to worry about that for the time being.

Here Joel was, wanting to hear you moan, whine, scream out of pleasure. You didn’t need him to tell you twice.

Fifteen.

“Oh, fuck!” you cried out as a jolt of pleasure ripped through you.

“That’s my girl.”

Sixteen. Seventeen.

His eyes darted down to your chest, your breasts heaving under the white silk with every thrust. He licked his lips as your nipples perked against the inside of your nightgown.

“I’m so close,” you sighed.

Before you had time to process your statement, his movements ceased.

“What did I say?” His tone was a myriad of soft and commanding. “Not until you finish countin’.”

Was he trying to torture you?

As much as you wanted to roll your eyes, to bite back and huff a snark at the sturdy man looming over you, no words came. All you could do was lie there and take it.

Eighteen. Nineteen.

Your eyes rolled back, thighs now trembling uncontrollably. You were trying with every ounce of willpower to hang on, but the friction of his pelvis against your clit was certainly doing you no favors. Or maybe it was.

“Eyes on me,” he ordered, his calm voice a surprising juxtaposition to his command.

“Can’t…can’t help it,” you choked out between breaths. “So good. You feel so fucking good, babe.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

Twenty. Twenty-one. Twenty-two. Twenty-three.

The plea that followed was a ghost on your breath. “Harder.”

“Hmm?” He knew damn well what you needed, but just giving it to you? That would be too easy. “Gotta speak up, baby.”

“Harder,” you repeated, the word now morphing into a strangled moan.

“How does my girl want it?” A calloused thumb slipped across your nipple, teasing you through the sheer material.

“Harder!” you begged, gritting your teeth and pleading with both your eyes and your words. “Please.”

“Good girl.”

Twenty-four. Twenty-five. Twenty-six.

His hips made contact with a loud slap, making you whine and writhe below him, keeping his pace but sawing deeper, harsher as your back bowed off the mattress. He pressed down on your lower stomach, wanting you to feel his bulge deep within you, and your whole body bucked. Your nails dug into his back, clinging to what little restraint you had left as you fought to hold out. You were so close to the edge, and while he was struggling to hold back, he was determined to get you there first. But not without a little teasing along the way.

Twenty-seven. Twenty-eight.

“Havin’ trouble, sweetheart?” he taunted with another snap of his hips.

Twenty-nine.

“Jesus Christ, Joel!” you wailed with a sharp exhale, the force nearly knocking the wind out of you.

His words were laced with a sound between a grunt and a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

Smug fucking bastard.

The last thrusts were slow, purposeful, deliberate—meant to draw out your time dangling on the edge for as long as possible. 

Thirty.

Thirty-one.

He counted the last one out loud. “Thirty-two.”

Before he’d finished the word, you came undone.

Every cell in your body burned, alight with an overstimulating, searing bliss. Your vision went white, mouth falling into the perfect little ‘O’. Your hearing slowly faded out, ears blocked as if you were descending out of the clouds.

“Joel!” you cried out. “Joel! Oh my god!”

Tears pooled in the corners of your eyes, a few escaping and trickling down your cheeks. You usually weren’t one to cry during sex, but with the euphoria coursing through you, your body had no choice but to find release in every way possible.

Intimacy with Joel was always amazing, but you’d never felt so high that it brought you to tears or had you screaming the way you were. You worried that anyone who heard you might think you were the victim of a crime rather than the most mind-boggling orgasm of your life.

“Keep squeezin’ me, baby.”

Like you had any other choice.

His precise movements from before were no longer so. They became ragged, messy, sloppy as he sheathed himself inside you again and again, chasing his release. His hot, rapid breaths tickled your ear, and with the vice grip you had on his cock, you knew he was done for.

“Shit—Y/N, I’m gonna—“

With another moan of your name, he buried himself one last time before his climax hit him, painting your walls white. He went still above you, his muscles rippling under your fingertips.

With your name on the tip of his tongue, he pulled out until only the head of him was squeezed inside you, and as you both looked down at the mess you’d made, he pushed in one last time, the squelch of arousal renting the air. Joel’s eyes rolled back at the sound, mixing with your whimpers as he buried himself inside of you, coming completely undone.

He collapsed on top of you, his sweat-slicked chest flush against yours, and the heat radiating off of him was almost suffocating. A symphony of desperate inhales filled the air, your rapid heartbeat ringing in Joel’s ear as his head rested in the valley between your breasts. For several minutes, you remained linked, holding each other and basking in the afterglow. Slowly, your breath steadied, your blown pupils receded, and your hearing returned to normal.

Your partner was the first to break the silence, picking his head up, his facial hair lightly scratching your skin. “You good, baby?” He reached up to brush a stray tear off your cheek, then the corner of your eye to rid you of the remainder.

“Mhm. Really good,” you assured. You brought his hand to your lips, placing a few tender kisses on the back of it. “Thank you.”

“Anythin’ for the birthday girl.” Your soft smile was met with a smirk that ignited a tingling between your legs. “You got another round in you?”

“I got as many rounds of that in me as you do, hotshot. But first—” You reached to the side and tapped your nightstand, nodding in the direction of your still-steaming latte. “Can’t let this hard work go to waste.”

General taglist: @raddydaddydude @lovenormandixon @angeldemoncrowley @negansbestie @holdmytesseract @dixons-sunshine @stellar-waves @chateaujoon @mediocrxtes @angelsanarchy @sharkie06 @sa1nt-bambi

Joel Miller taglist: @ddixonsangel @tinysunshine @sharkie06 @d1xonss @banshees-martin @lightning-hawke @darylgf @b0ssyboots @valisadixon

Click here to join my taglist!

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[dixonsdarkelf]

Put It Down (Pick It Up, Now Slow): Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Main masterlist Series masterlist Daryl x Reader masterlist AO3 link

Previous title: Flattery

Prompt: Themed Lingerie

Summary: A run with your new partner reveals that he's had other things on his mind recently...and so have you.

Era: Alexandria, pre-Saviors

Genre: Fluff & suggestive

Word count: 600 words

Warnings: No use of y/n, suggestive themes but no smut

A/N: This originally was posted as a standalone drabble but is now chapter one of my mini series "Last Christmas, I Gave You My...". I'm finally dipping my toes into the world of Character x Reader writing. This is my first time writing in second person/x reader format, so please go easy on me or I'll cry. I'm posting this before I stare at it for too long and change my mind. A massive thank you to @dixons-sunshine for proofreading, helping with translating Daryl's dialogue into Daryl, giving me tips, and encouraging me to do it/post it. I love you sm 🖤 New title comes from the song "Amateur" by Scene Queen.

“Daryl? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Cocking an eyebrow, you looked past your shoulder at him, your new boyfriend’s eyes quickly averting once he realized he’d been caught.

With winter setting in and temperatures beginning to drop in Virginia, the two of you had been sent on a run to a nearby department store, your goal to find coats, boots, blankets, and whatever sort of winter necessities you could get your hands on. Amongst all the cold-weather attire, you’d found a little something hot for yourself.

“Dunno what ya talkin’ ‘bout,” he mumbled, his normal sun-kissed complexion becoming one akin to a fresh tomato.

Your gaze dropped to the material in your hands, your fingers dancing over the satin cups, and a small smirk crossed your lips. You were holding a set of Christmas lingerie—a babydoll style two-piece. The red cups and mesh of the flyaway bodice were bordered with a fluffy white trim that trailed down the center with a red thong to accompany it.

“Ah, I see,” you teased, your cheeks beginning to heat up as you held up the garment, “this why?”

You’d only been together for a few weeks, the farthest you’d gone in terms of anything physically being a heated make-out session with little hand exploration. You’d been itching for things to move further but not wanting to push any boundaries. Daryl was clearly skittish and uncomfortable in the realm of sex and romance. However, unbeknownst to you, he’d been itching for the same.

He pictured the mesh flowing around your hips as you twirled before him and the thong sliding over your thighs and falling to your ankles. His signature small smile appeared as he pictured your eyes glossed over with lust and thought about what every inch of your soft skin felt like in his work-worn hands. He was reveling in this sweet little daydream, and you’d caught him in it.

“It’s ok, Daryl. I’m flattered.” As you walked back to him, you purposely swayed your hips a little extra, drawing the archer’s eyes to them for just a moment. Yours fell to your feet, that sweet heat returning to your cheeks again.

“Flattered?” He sounded surprised by your choice of words, like you couldn’t possibly be flattered by his longing gaze and the lewd thoughts you knew he was having. Despite having finally made your relationship official after months of going in circles, he was confused by sparkle in your eye he’d caught a glimpse of when you first looked back at him.

“Yeah. I mean, I’ve been…thinking about it too,” you assured, lashes fluttering as you brought your gaze up from the floor to meet his ocean eyes, “hinting at it for a while now. Hasn’t it been kind of obvious?”

The silence from him was loud, deafening as it practically echoing off the white walls. That alone was an answer enough for you.

A sweet giggle emanated from the depths of your chest, the sound like music to your man’s ears. “Okay, maybe not so obvious. I adore you, but you can be incredibly dense sometimes.”

“Grab the coats,” Daryl instructed, clearly flustered as he haphazardly gestured to a box on a nearby table. He was beginning to turn red again, somehow an even darker shade than he had before. He grabbed a box from off the floor and was quickly heading toward the front door. “Talk when we get back.”

“Talk…right…” you mused, a chuckle slipping past your lips as you stowed the lingerie away in your bag, “I’m sure that’s exactly what we’ll do.”

General taglist: @raddydaddydude @lovenormandixon @angeldemoncrowley @negansbestie

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[dixonsdarkelf]

Strawberry Croissants: Murphy MacManus x Fem!Reader

Main masterlist Murphy x Reader Masterlist AO3 link

Summary: You're a home baker, and you're trying to finish a batch of goodies for the local church's charity event. But your now 5-year-old, Myrna, is insistent on being a helping hand. And one small moment confirms something you'd known all along.

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: Like one tiny bad word. I think that's it!

A/N: Dad!Murphy has finally returned. Idk how I feel about this one, but I hope you all enjoy it 🤗 Sorry it's taken like a month for me to post something. Life has been life-ing a lot over the last few weeks. And thank you to my resident second set of eyes @dixons-sunshine for giving this a look-over and hyping it up 🖤

Bright rays streamed in through the kitchen window, the warmth of the early Friday sun greeting your skin. Flour in the air mingled with dust, the two now akin to one another in the light streaming in. You brushed a stray hair from your eyes with the back of your hand and reached for your morning pick-me-up, the honeyed scent of your homemade latte greeting your senses. Though you were only now partaking in your favorite AM ritual, you’d been up well before sunrise.

You were a home baker who ran a small business out of your kitchen, most of your orders coming from the local schools or families hosting birthday or graduation parties. Today, it was baking batch after batch of your most popular delicacy for the church bake sale tomorrow—your famous strawberry croissants.

You took the standard French pastry and elevated it with your own twist, filling them with a strawberry and vanilla pastry cream and dusting them with powdered sugar and crushed freeze-dried strawberries. They were a hit, and by this time, you’d counted on making them with nearly every order you accepted, regardless of the occasion. And you’d never had a single complaint.

With a deep exhale, you set your mug down, stepping to the sink to wash your hands. There was still so much to do. Wash and dice the strawberries, make the cream, crush the freeze-dried ones—

The sound of small feet padding against the wooden floor pulled you from your anxious inner ramblings. Turning to your kitchen entryway, you smiled when your five-year-old toddled over to you, barely awoken from her slumber. She stopped at your feet and wrapped her arms around your leg.

“Good morning, Mommy,” Myrna greeted, resting her head on your thigh.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” you cooed, your voice light and airy despite the grogginess plaguing your system. “How did you sleep?”

She stepped back and yawned, rubbing her eyes with her fists, her stuffed teddy bear clutched tight against her chest. “Good.” Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of a rolling pin on the counter and quickly changed the subject. She knew what the presence of a rolling pin meant. “Are you baking, Mommy?”

“I am,” you confirmed as you took a towel to dry your hands. “I’m making your favorite croissants for the bake sale this weekend.”

She cheered in a whispered tone, pumping a fist in the air. “Can I help you before Daddy takes me to school?”

You chuckled and tossed the towel to the side. “Is that why you’re up so early?”

“Nooo,” she replied, drawing out the word for as long as possible. It wasn't for long, as the small act of defiance was quickly taken over by a fit of giggles. “I lied, Mommy. I just wanted to help you.”

“Oh, did you now?” you teased. Despite your sarcasm-riddled tone, her giggles slowly faltered.

“Mhm,” she hummed with a nod. “Am I in trouble for lying?”

With a soft smile, you shook your head and crouched down to her level, carding your fingers through her hair to brush it from her face. “No, you’re not in trouble. Of course you can help, baby. What do you want to do?”

Myrna’s eyes sparkled like stars at your declaration. “Cut the strawberries!”

“Now, Myrna,” you sighed, the sound peppered with a hidden laugh. “What does Mommy use to cut strawberries?”

She tapped her chin with her finger and furrowed her brow, her young brain working a mile a minute to correctly answer your question. “A sharp knife.”“That’s right,” you nodded. “And what did Mommy and Daddy tell you about sharp knives?”“They’re only for grown-ups,” she replied with an exasperated, defeated sigh.

“That’s right, angel.” You patted her head, looking deep into her crystal blue eyes—eyes just like her Daddy. “But you can wash the strawberries for me. How does that sound?”

“Yes!” she exclaimed with a few hops. ‘Her happy hops, ’ as her Daddy called them.

“Alright baby, go put your teddy in your room,” you chuckled. “You don’t want him to get dirty, do you?”

“No!” she called out, already having started off down the hallway to her room.

You grabbed your dough cutter from the drawer, eyeing down the slab of flour and butter spread out on the counter. “I have hundreds of these to make,” you muttered, grabbing your mug and swigging back more of your latte like it was booze.

After a minute, your daughter skipped back out, the gleaming smile on her face rivaling the morning sun. You nodded in the opposite direction. “Get your step stool.”

As she traipsed over to grab her stool from the corner, your husband walked out, wearing a fresh pair of sweatpants. Water droplets still trickled from his chestnut locks, soaking the white cotton t-shirt he’d thrown on—his typical “taking the kiddo to school” attire. Stepping over to you, he captured your lips in a quick but passionate kiss, keeping it PG while still pouring every ounce of love and adoration he had for you into it. This was always the way Murphy kissed you, and one of the reasons you fell so hard for him in the first place.

“Mornin’, angel.” His voice was still hoarse, thick with sleep—one of your favorite sounds. “How’s everythin’ comin’?”

“So far, so good,” you confirmed. “I was just about to start cutting the triangles for the first batch.”

“Ye want some help later?” Murphy offered.

“I think I’ll be okay,” you reassured, cocking an eyebrow to preface your question that followed. “Besides, aren’t you supposed to go see Connor?”

“Bastard can wait,” he murmured, planting another kiss on your cheek.

Your eyes went wide with shock, and you lightly swatted him on the chest with the back of your hand. Sure, he damn near whispered it, but your daughter had ears like a hawk. “Murph!”

“What’s “baserd” mean?” Myrna chimed in, teetering back and forth on her step stool. A patient girl, but such an antsy thing, she was.

“Nothing, sweetheart,” you assured, side-eyeing your husband. “Your daddy’s just being silly.” You playfully bumped him with your hip, jostling him slightly. “And it’s too early for that.”

“Yeah, Daddy,” she parroted. “It’s too early to be silly.”

Snickering, he bent over and picked her up, emitting a soft groan as he hoisted her into his arms. He kissed her on the cheek as she threw her arms around his neck. “Ye helpin’ yer mama?”

“Yes!” Myrna exclaimed with a series of claps. “She said I could wash the strawberries because sharp knives are only for grown-ups!”

“Yer ma’s a smart woman,” he commented.

“Very smart,” she mimicked in a sing-song tone, then turned to you. “Come on, Mommy. I’m ready to help now!”

And there went the patience.

With a subtle and playful eye roll, you set your dough cutter on the counter, pulling a colander from the cabinet. You rested it in the sink before stepping over to the fridge, finally pulling that illustrious container of juicy red fruit from its chilly confines.

She had a very important duty, after all. You couldn’t keep her waiting.

Myrna’s face lit up like a Christmas tree as you dumped them into the colander, thrilled to be partaking in such an important role in Mommy’s baking. Murphy set Myrna down on her stool, the child squealing in delight as you placed the full colander in front of her. “Use cool water, baby. You don’t want to burn yourself.”

“Yes, Mommy,” she nodded. She flipped the faucet on and began gently shaking the colander, the strawberries bouncing around in and out from under the stream of water. Small droplets speckled her face, but she hadn’t a care in the world. All that mattered to her was being Mommy’s little helper.

You felt your husband’s arms wrap around you from behind, his head resting on your shoulder and breath tickling your ear. He squeezed your midsection gently, pulling you tighter against him as you worked side-by-side with Myrna.

“Pot’s full for you, babe,” you told him, gesturing in the direction of the ancient coffee pot on the corner of the counter. You were a latte girl through and through, but the younger MacManus man much preferred his morning cup of bitter black sludge.

“That’s my girl.”

And that’s how it was for a while–you preheating the oven, cutting and rolling triangles into croissants, and going to town on a plastic bag of freeze-dried strawberries to crush them into a powder. Murphy sat at the kitchen table, watching his girls laugh and prep together. And he’d be damned if he said it didn’t put stars in his eyes.

“Alright, baby, we gotta get ye ready for school,” he spoke up when his watch struck 7am.

“But Daddy,” Myrna whined, trying her best to mimic the Irishman’s accent.

He rose from his chair and walked over to her, crouching down until he was at eye level with the girl. But Myrna,” he chided, and she snickered. “Maybe if you’re really good, yer ma’ll bring ye one of her croissants at lunch.”

Her fit of laughter continued, her ‘happy hops’ returning at the prospect of a sweet treat from Mommy. You rolled your eyes out of view, but not in a condescending way. More of a “I should have seen this coming” kind of way.

“I can be good!”

“I know ye can. Let’s start with gettin’ ye ready for school, yeah?”

Saying barely a word, she scurried off down the hall, nearly tripping as she jumped off of her stool. With a wink, Murphy followed, leaving you to finish your assault on the freeze-dried fruit on the counter.

After you popped the first batch in the oven, you made your way over to your daughter’s room when you heard her familiar and boisterous laughter. You tiptoed quietly across the wooden floorboards, not wanting to interrupt whatever shenanigans they were getting up to.

When you reached her room at the end of the hall, you leaned against her doorframe, watching Murphy help slip her sweater on, her fingers catching on the ends of the sleeves. You were sure he’d caught a glimpse of you in his peripheral, but he kept every ounce of his attention on Myrna.

“Daddy, can I wear my tutu?” she pleaded. Though it was costume attire, her tutu was her favorite, asking to wear the frilly pink tulle every time she left the house. “Please?”

Playfully huffing, he took a few beats before nodding. “‘Course ye can.”

She skipped over to her dresser before he’d even finished his sentence, an extra pep in the little one’s steps. Pulling the bottom drawer handle—the only one she could successfully reach and open herself—she slid the drawer out, grabbing her tutu the moment her eyes landed on it.

Slipping it on over her jeans, the clash of the forest green sweater and electric pink tutu a sight to behold. But it was the most beautiful sight to your Myrna.

“I’m a ballerina, Daddy!” she cheered, twirling in circles and holding her arms above her head like she’d seen in her Barbie movies.

Crouching back down to her level, he smiled at her, basking in the warmth of her unbridled joy. “Ye sure are, baby. Ye sure are.”

After she was satisfied with her ‘ballet practice’, she steadied herself and ran past you to the living room, shouting out a haphazard “hi mommy!” like she hadn’t just spent the last hour or so with you in the kitchen. “Come on, Daddy! I’m gonna be late for school!”

“Oh, now ye wanna rush, kid?” he teased. He strode over to you, sliding an arm around your waist and kissing your forehead. “Ye okay, angel?”

Your bright smile and twinkling eyes should have been the answer. “Yeah. I’m good.”

“Goofy kid, ain’t she?” he laughed, taking your hand and leading you down the hallway.

“Yeah,” you muttered, your voice tinged with more appreciation and devotion than you thought your body could muster.

Stepping into the living room, Myrna was already standing by the front door, shoes on and backpack over her shoulder. She rocked back and forth from one foot to the other, waiting—this time impatiently—for her dad to get ready.

Grabbing the keys off the coat hook, he slid them into his pocket, grabbing his phone from the stand by the front door and sliding that onto his other one. “Well,” he began with a silly grin, “guess I’m ready to go.”

“You need shoes, Daddy,” your five-year-old chuckled.

“Oh, silly me,” he joked, lightly tapping his forehead in a mock facepalm. “How could I forget?”

“Mommy said it’s too early to be silly,” she recalled, her tone serious and very sure of herself.

“Better listen to yer Ma then, huh?” He quickly slid on his shoes, haphazardly tightening the laces. Normally, he left them laced up and just slipped them on and off without undoing them, but every so often, he had to tighten them again. And your little girl was having none of it.

“Let’s go, Daddy!” she grumbled.

“You sure you’re not just excited for lunch time, hun?” you asked.

“No,” she joked, her nod saying otherwise.

Murphy patted his pockets, assuring he had all of his necessary belongings for the short drive down the road. “Now I’m ready.”

As you lowered yourself to your knees, your five-year-old sprinted to you, her arms wrapping tight around your neck. Myrna was a hugger. She always had been. And tight ones were her favorite.

“I’ll see you at lunchtime!” she affirmed.

“I’ll see you then, baby,” you promised, fully succumbing to the promise your husband had made against your will. But you had no qualms about it.

Rising to your feet, your five-year-old ran to the door, and it was Murphy’s turn to be in your arms. He embraced you fully, pressing your body against his like it was the last thing he would ever do. He inhaled deeply, taking in your scent before pressing his lips to yours in a tender kiss. “I’ll see you soon. I love ye.”

“Love you too.” you echoed. “I’ll get the door for you.”

Reaching over her, Murphy unlocked the wooden door, then the screen one, your daughter skipping out the moment there was enough roofer her to slip through. He jogged slightly to catch up to her, but she beat him to his car in the driveway, standing by the back door where her carseat was.

You stood by the front door, peering through the screen-covered window at your little family out front. You watched as he lifted her and spun her around, her infectious laugh permeating the glass in front of you. He opened the door and strapped her into her cat seat, and you imagined what line she was trying to pull on him this time. “Can I sit up front like Mommy?” Or maybe “I’m a big kid, Daddy. I don’t need a car seat.” Possibly “I just wanna be like Mommy. Can I sit next to you?” But try as she might, the answer was always no. Her day would eventually come, though.

As he climbed into the driver’s seat, he gave you a small wave. You returned it, the smile that started as small growing at a rapid rate. The sight before you, the interaction you’d witnessed of the two of them in her room not even 10 minutes earlier, and the hour the three of you spent in the kitchen made your heart swell in your ribcage and happy tears prick at the corners of your eyes. And it only confirmed what you had known all along.

You’d chosen the perfect father for your daughter.

Taglist: @raddydaddydude @lovenormandixon @angeldemoncrowley @negansbestie @holdmytesseract @dixons-sunshine @stellar-waves @chateaujoon @mediocrxtes @angelsanarchy @darylgf

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[dixonsdarkelf]

A Little Snooping Never Hurt Anyone: Murphy MacManus x Fem!Reader

Main masterlist Murphy x Reader Masterlist AO3 link

Summary: Bedroom activities with your boyfriend never ceased to leave you fully satiated, but tonight was different. And only later is it revealed what exactly had gotten into him.

Genre: Fluff, suggestive, implied smut

Word count: 878

Warnings: MDNI, implied smut (like we don't see any of the action but they were clearly fucking), implication of unprotected p in v & creampie (I do not endorse this, y'all know better), swearing

A/N: This was inspired by this post from the lovely @negansbestie 🤍 I hope you enjoy this angel. Consider it a belated birthday gift 🖤 And thank you to my favorite second set of eyes, @dixons-sunshine, as always 🖤

The door crashes against the wall, the sound of those rusty hinges reverberating through the small apartment. His lips had already collided into yours before you’d even approached his apartment, his kisses tender but needy, every cell in his body already tingling at the thought of feeling you in the most intimate way.

Barely in the doorframe, his hand finds your waist, pressing you against the wall and boxing you in. His other hand trailed to your leg, lifting it slightly to hook around his. You could feel his hardness against your thigh, dangerously close to your core. The heat radiating off of him, but especially from between his legs, was searing, suffocating almost.

His lips traveled down your jaw slowly, almost achingly so, eventually finding the sweet spot on your neck. He kissed, licked, sucked gently—teasing you, testing your patience. Which you had none of today.

“Fuck, Murph.” Your head falls back to allow him easier access, your fingers digging into his shoulders as if it was the only thing keeping you upright. Your moans sent shivers down his spine, every little reaction your body had to his touch traveling straight to his cock.

“Ye make the sweetest sounds, lass,” he groaned against your neck, resisting the urge to grind against you. He wanted to take it slow with you. He always did. Tonight, though, would be just a little bit different.

He pulled your leg up further, his hand sliding down to pull your other one up and encouraging you to wrap them around his waist. He captured your lips again, ensuring he had a firm grip on you before pulling you away from the wall and carrying you over to bed.

That was some time ago. Half an hour, 45 minutes, you couldn’t be sure, nor did you care.

And now here you were, strung-out and spent, the mattress springs squeaking as your partner adjusted himself next to you. He slipped on that infamous grey robe before lying back, pulling the blanket over himself and cuddling closer to you. You smiled up at him, the dazed, cock-drunk look in your eyes making him chuckle.

“Ye good, lass?” he inquired. He brushed some hair from your face, admiring you as you lay there on your back, staring up at the ceiling.

“Yeah,” you sighed, your stupefied expression carrying into your voice. Sex with Murphy always left you satisfied after, but today? You’d never felt pleasure like that. Never felt him like that. He was gentle with you, of course, but there was an unfamiliar voracity in his thrusts, an earth-shattering hunger as he bucked and emptied himself into you. “Holy shit.”

“That a good “holy shit?”” he teased, a chuckle escaping him once again.

You turned your head to meet his gaze, those deep pools of blue pulling you toward him like a siren song. “Are you kidding me? My legs are still twitching.” Rolling over onto your side, you propped your head up with your hand, resting on your elbow. “That was incredible. I’ve never seen you like that before.” You paused for a brief moment, a beat just long enough to contemplate asking the question that’d been on your mind. “You were wild, babe. What got into you?”

A faint blush appeared on his cheeks, quickly creeping down his neck. “Saw yer texts the other day,” he confessed, sounding ashamed as his eyes fell to the bed, “left yer phone open when ye were in the shower.”

Your ears perked up at his statement, and despite your best efforts, you could feel them beginning to redden against your will. “And what exactly did you see?”

“A message of ye tellin’ ye friend, and I quote, “I want him to hit it like a drawer that won’t close.”” His voice had grown softer, timid, like he was a little bashful to be uttering such words. Though after what he just did, the notion seemed silly—getting flustered after giving you a life-changing orgasm.

The heat gathering in your cheeks was like fire, burning you from the inside out. The embarrassment flooding your system was suffocating, your breath catching in your chest as you gasped. Your hand instinctively shoots out from under the blanket to swat his chest. “What the hell, Murph, you little sneak! You snooped?”

“Don’t know if it technically classifies as snoopin’, Y/N,” he shrugged, “never touched it. Only saw what was open. Ye know I’d never do it intentionally.” He snaked his arm around you, pulling you flush against his chest and kissing your forehead. “And I don’t know why ye lookin’ so embarrassed. Seein’ ye lose yourself, watchin’ how ye reacted because of a little something I could do…gonna go stir-crazy if I keep thinkin’ about it.”

You giggled softly at his praises, resting your head in the crook of his neck. “I just never expected you to see it. But I’ll admit, the way you were tonight was something else.”

“Guess a little snoopin’ never hurt anyone,” he teased, his other hand sliding down your lower back to bring your whole body closer to him. “Especially not in this case.”

“Yeah,” you agreed. A hint of laughter laced your words, bringing matching smiles to both of your faces. “In this case, I guess it doesn’t.”

General taglist: @raddydaddydude @lovenormandixon @angeldemoncrowley @negansbestie @holdmytesseract @dixons-sunshine

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