cybxrcvnt

[cybxrcvnt]

Smoke & Sweat

Pairing: Early 20s Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Blurb: You came around just for a cigarette and his quiet company but heat builds, touches linger, and teasing turns into something more.

WC: 3.1k

Warnings: SMUT, drugs

Notes: This is my first TWD fic, hopefully will get more out soon

You pull up to the trailer park just as the sun starts to fall behind the trees. It casts an orange tint on everything, almost making it look pretty. You park next to Daryl and kill the engine on your bike, swinging your leg over to get off. Gravel crunches under your boots as you make your way to his.

The busted screen door is banging against the frame just like it always does every time the wind picks up. You shed your leather jacket, slinging it over your arm. It was a relief; the heat was horrible, and you could feel the sweat dripping along your back. 

You don't knock; just walk in. The inside of the trailer smells like weed and petrol mixed with some cheap deodorant. It’s just as hot inside. He has a small fan, on its highest setting, rattling on the counter, but all it's doing is pushing the hot air around. 

Daryl is sitting on the couch, deep cracks rooted in the leather. His arm is thrown along the top, and his legs are spread wide in a lazy way. He's wearing one of his sleeveless button-ups, three buttons undone, his skin glistening with a thin layer of sweat. 

You kick off your boots, throw your jacket over them, and drop down beside him. Some old movie is playing on the TV; the picture is grainy and the audio sounds fuzzy. 

A cigarette sits between his lips as he finally looks over at you; he nods before handing it to you. You take it, slowly inhaling. He fishes a lighter out of his pocket; it has flames painted on it, done with nail polish from when you were bored. He picks up another cigarette, lighting it for himself. 

You eventually finish yours, stubbing it out on the ashtray on the coffee table. The second it's out, you reach over, plucking it out of his mouth. 

“Hey!” He mutters, but he doesn't do anything about it. He just watches, and his mouth twitches into a faint smile.

“You gave me your used one when I came in. It's only fair.” You shrug, giving him a smile, the smoke softly curling out of your mouth. He shakes his head and leans back. After a minute you squish it into the tray until it dies. 

You sit back, the TV is softly playing, the fan clanks with every spin, and a car backfires loudly, making you jump. Daryl laughs at your reaction, and you flip him off. Then you look over at him with your chin tilted slightly and a smile he hasn't quite figured out to ignore. 

“Have anything else? Just to give us a little buzz?” You ask, voice low and soft. Your eyes stay on him, just waiting. He raises an eyebrow.

“This ain't enough for you?” He says it just to tease, knowing it's not. He nods towards the ashtray, and a small pout forms on your lips. 

“Please” You barely finish asking, and he's already leaning forward, grabbing the tin box that sits in a nook under the table. He drops it into your lap, telling you to take what you want. 

“You roll. You've got smaller hands; roll them quicker.” You grin, opening the box, sifting through the product. 

“Just admit you like watching me do it.” He leans back again, tossing his arm behind you. His eyes stay on your hands as you work, rolling it between your fingers. You lick and seal it, holding it up, showing him. He plucks it from you, licking his lower lip before putting it between his teeth. 

“Perfect” he hums before bringing the lighter up. He takes a long drag before exhaling, slowly, right in your face with a chuckle. 

“Asshole” you playfully push his face to the side. “Made that for myself.” You take it from him, taking a few hits. “You’re lucky I’m high enough to forgive you.”

“You’re not high yet.” Daryl grins, lazy and lopsided.

“Give it a minute.” You lean back into the couch, bringing the joint to your lips. “Had some before I came, also, used your good stuff; shouldn't take too long.” He steals it off you again.

“That's why I deserve it. Using my stash. My expensive product. Hey?” You narrow your eyes at him, though it has no bite. You watch him, mainly his mouth, the way the smoke twirls around. A giggle slips out, and you roll your head back, it rests against his arm but neither of you makes an effort to move. He places the rolled paper between your lips, his fingers resting on them as he lets you have another puff. Then it's gone again. You both sit quietly, watching the TV, while he finishes. The plot is too far along to understand what's happening, but it keeps you busy. 

It doesn't take forever till your eyelids feel a little heavy and you're mumbling to yourself, having a whole conversation, back and forth. Daryl looks over with an amused look. 

“Already seem high as hell, Fuckin’ lightweight” he mutters, but he says it like it’s funny. Entertained that your eyes are a little glassy and your mouth hangs open just a little.

“I’m not a lightweight,” you defend, voice thick but soft. 

“You’re mumblin’ to the damn TV.”

“I was making a point.” you argue. 

“Sure you were.” You mumble back before sliding down into his side and resting your head on his chest. He doesn't stop you; he just moves slightly so you fit better. His arm drops down, resting on your waist. 

“Comfy?” He mumbles, looking down at you.

“Yeah.” You let out a sigh, melting further into his side. He keeps his hand still for a moment, but when you don't pull away, his fingers brush up and down. They slip under your shirt and follow the curve of your side. The rough calluses against your skin makes you suck in a breath, and a shiver runs up your spine. 

Then his hand settles, cupped around your breast. He doesn't move, not sure if he should. 

“You ain’t gonna tell me to knock it off?” he mutters. You tip your head up just enough to look at him, cheek still pressed to his chest. 

“You want me to?”

“No.” His voice is slightly gruff. 

“Then don't” I shrug, lowering my head. He exhales deeply, like he's been holding it since first touching your skin. His thumb brushes over your nipple, the touch so soft, like he's waiting for you to change your mind, but you stay, so he does it again. 

He settles a bit more, fingers switching between both, lightly pinching and pulling at them. He watches your reactions, testing how far he can go. You notice his cock hardening in his jeans.

“Didn’t think you’d be that easy, Dixon.” You softly tease. 

“Ain’t easy. Just… been thinkin’ about this for a while.” He admits, roughness in his voice. You hum at his confession, letting it sit for a moment. 

“How long is a while?” Your hand rests on his stomach, fiddling with the buttons.

“Couple months”

“And you didn't tell me?” You whisper.

“Not too good at that part.” He laughs, and you look up at him again. 

“Guess I should be flattered you groped me then” He grins.

“Just testin’ the waters” You sit up fully, but your eyes don't leave him. A smirk tugs at your lips as an idea comes to mind. You straddle him, pushing your knee between his hip and the couch arm; he moves to make room. 

“Just testin' the waters” you mimic him. He leans back. His hands start to wander, up along your thighs, your hips, then grabbing your shirt, up over your head, and tossing it behind you. His hands glide back down and rest on your waist. 

“You sure about this?” he questions, but there's no hesitation in the way he holds you. You nod. 

“You’ve been thinking about this for months.” you murmur. “Don't back out now, Dixon.” Your hands brace against his chest. His hands come around to your bare back, pulling you closer. You lean in the last few inches and kiss him. 

His lips are warm and a little chapped, but the way they move with yours is divine. There's tension and hesitation, but neither of you pull away. Your fingers curl into his shirt, deepening the kiss. His hand slips into your hair, holding you in place. You press your body closer, and his other hand grips your waist tighter. 

When you finally break the kiss, it’s only because you need air. Your foreheads rest against each other briefly before he pulls back a little, asking if you're okay. You nod.

“Are you?” You ask, your breath is a little shaky.

“Feelin’ like I might combust.” He says with a scoff. Your hands graze over his chest and onto his shoulders. 

“So dramatic.” You smile, slow and teasing.

“I'm not. You sittin’ on me like that, kissin’ me like that…” He shakes his head like he's trying to collect his thoughts. “Gonna drive me insane.” You toy with the collar of his shirt. 

“Yeah?” You gently roll your hips, slowly, pressing against his erection through his jeans. 

“I'm not gonna be a gentleman for much longer if you keep that up.” He mutters, his jaw tense. 

“You? A gentleman?” You smirk at his claim, and he huffs a soft laugh. 

“I’ve been tryin’ to keep my shit in check. Keep it respectful.” His gaze drops to where you're pressed against him, then drags them slowly back up. “But you? You're not exactly makin’ it easy.”

“I never asked you to be good, Daryl.” Your fingers tease along his collar again. His eyes stay locked on yours, and his hand trails up your spine –deliberate and slow– like he’s memorising you. 

“If I start, might not wanna stop.”

“Good” Your fingers slide up the nape of his neck, nails grazing lightly through his hair. “You don’t have to.”

He exhales sharply, then his lips crash onto yours again; there's no hesitation this time, just need. You respond, moaning into the kiss, tugging at his shirt. Your fingers find the buttons, fumbling with them, undoing them until you grow too annoyed, ripping the rest of them. It hangs open, one of your hands explores his skin, while the other finds his hair again. Your lips then press against his cheek, then his jaw.

“You sure about this?” he rasps. You nod without hesitation. 

“Don’t make me beg, Dixon.” You whisper by his ear.

“You say that like I wouldn’t enjoy it.” He turns his head to find your lips again, softer this time. Your noses bump into each other, and your hands wander. The kiss deepens with slow certainty, his lips parting just enough to pull another soft sound from you. He pulls back just enough to look at you.

“Gonna ruin you for anyone else,” he mutters, breath hot against your cheek.

“Good. I don’t want anyone else.” Your hands slide over his chest, down his stomach, until you’re working at the button of his jeans. He tenses when your fingers brush against the skin just above his waistband. You pop the button open and ease the zipper down. That’s enough for him. He grabs the backs of your thighs and lifts you with him as he stands, carrying you the few steps to the bedroom. His mouth is never far from your skin, kissing your shoulder and jaw.

The mattress shifts as he lays you down, his arms caging you in. His head dips, kissing your neck and then collarbones, working his way down, over the curve of your boobs. He slowly drags his tongue over your nipple before closing his mouth around it, sucking and gently biting before pulling back with a pop and repeating it on the other. Your back arches slightly, and you focus on keeping your breath steady. His mouth continues down your stomach, all over –left to right– making you giggle softly. He stops when he reaches the top of your jeans, standing up slowly.

“Look at you.” His eyes roam over every part of your skin, the sheen of sweat, places where he kissed a little too long leaving soft pink marks, up to your neck with the slow-forming hickey and your flushed face. He tugs at the waistband roughly, peeling them off and letting them fall wherever they land. 

His hands trail back up, over your knees, your thighs, until his fingers dip just under the thin band of your panties. You lift your hips for him, and he slides them down, his knuckles brushing your skin. The thin fabric slips past your ankles and he lets it drop without care. 

Then he grabs you by the hips and pulls, dragging you closer to the edge of the bed until your legs are off the bed, feet on the floor, and thighs spread around his frame. He shoves his jeans down his hips along with his underwear in one motion, kicking them aside. 

His hands wrap around the backs of your thighs, lifting your legs and pushing them apart. It leaves you feeling vulnerable; you're completely bare and open, but his gaze provides a weird sense of comfort.

“Just like that,” he mutters, “Keep ’em open for me.” He grabs his cock, guiding it to rest heavy on your centre before dragging it along the slick seam. 

With his free hand he spreads your lips apart, exposing your wetness fully to his hungry eyes. Then, he presses the swollen head of his cock against your clit, moving it side to side, making your mouth open with a soft moan. He moves his hips slowly towards yours, sliding the underside of his cock up through the slick. When he drags it back down, his head lines up with your entrance.

“You ready?” His eyes are focused on your pussy, too preoccupied to look at your face, but you eagerly nod. 

“Please” You nibble on your bottom lip. He slips the head in, stretching you just enough to make your eyes flutter shut. But before you can really even process it, he pulls back out. Your hips jolt on instinct, chasing him. “Daryl, don't…Please” You whine softly, not sure if you can take any teasing. You just want to feel him. He grins down at you, spitting on your pussy and slapping his cock down on it a few times.

“Please, what?” Your breath hitches. 

“I need you.” He chuckles at your soft tone. 

“Yeah? That right?” Another slow glide of his length over your clit and down again, nudging your entrance but not giving in. “You sure you can take it?” You nod again, a soft plea on your lips. One of his large hands slides up and grips your thigh. He pushes in, slow and steady, stealing the breath from your lungs inch by inch.

“We're getting there. Just keep your pretty eyes on me.” he mutters, his jaw clenched tight with restraint. His other hand now rests on the other thigh, keeping them open as he continues to slowly push. The final push makes you gasp, fingers fisting the sheets beneath you. When he doesn't start moving, you roll your hips. His hands quickly move from your thighs to your hips, holding you still. 

“Easy,” his voice is low, and he laughs. “Be patient, darlin’. You’re squeezin’ me so damn tight.” His thumb strokes gently over your hipbone, a contrast to the firm grip. “There ya go.” Your breath hitches as you try to adjust to the fullness. When your eyes meet each other, you nod, wanting him to move. He starts moving, each slow, deep thrust measured as if he's savouring the moment. 

“You feel that?” he murmurs. “How tight you are for me? Like you were made to take it.”

“Yeah” Pleasure pools low in your belly with every deep stroke. One of his hands slides up your side, fingers splayed against your ribcage before cupping your boob. You arch into his touch. He leans in, tongue flicking over the other nipple before sucking it into his mouth. Your fingers tangle into his hair, massaging against his scalp. 

You pull at his hair, bringing him level with you. You kiss him with deep need, moaning as he grinds into you. 

“Daryl,” you whimper, hips rocking up to meet his. “Please don’t stop.” He growls against your skin.

“I’m just gettin’ started.” His mouth is on your throat, marking you up so there's no forgetting what happened. His teeth graze your pulse point while mumbling about how good it feels. You like that he knows he has all of you. He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. His pupils are blown, and his lips are semi-swollen. 

“You’re takin’ it so damn good, baby. So good for me.” He stands back up, both hands coming back to your hips as he thrusts a little rougher, a little deeper. Your hands scramble for something to hold onto; one grabs his wrist, the other finds the sheets. Your mouth drops open on a moan.

“Daryl! Oh my god-” 

“I know!” He uses the leverage to pull you towards him. Your head pushes back into the blanket. “Uh-uh.” He grabs your hair, forcing your head up to look down at where you're connected. “Eyes down, baby. Look at how good you’re takin’ me.” The sight is overwhelming –his cock disappearing into you over and over. “Keep watching” He moves his hand away and down to your clit, thumb rubbing tight, firm circles. “C’mon, I want to feel you.”

Your eyes squeeze shut as your orgasm rushes through you. He doesn't let up even when you're whimpering and squirming. His pace stutters, hips jerking erratically before he groans your name and drives deep one last time, spilling inside you with a groan.

He pulls out and flops onto the bed beside you, folding his arms behind his head. You both take a minute to catch your breath; you can feel him spilling out of you and onto the sheets. He sits up and rummages through the bedside drawer. He finds a single cigarette and lights it. He leans back, resting on his forearm, facing you. After the first inhale, he grabs your jaw, making you look at him. He gets closer, blowing the smoke into your mouth, causing a soft laugh from both of you. 

“You are perfect.” His lips press against yours a final time. 

[cybxrcvnt]

Steve and Eddie sittin’ in a tree.

F U C K I N G

Cause we all know Eddie has a sick treehouse and he just has to show Steve one day and Stevie finds his stack of playboys? Nah.. playgirls. And he’s like.. oh? And Eddie’s like.. hmm? And then clothes are flying everywhere until they’re dry humping in their boxers and Steve’s never been more happy in his life. Okay? Okay.

[cybxrcvnt]

[cybxrcvnt]

just sent a few larger creators on here a message about Bia. I’m so concerned, been crying for about an hour now. Honestly the last thing I can think of to spread the word more is to start the tag ‘finding Biainvoid’ so that if any of her other mutuals see this they recognise her username.

In case you don’t know Bia and are very confused upon seeing this, @biainvoid-deactivated20250601 is a pretty good friend of mine here on shiftblr. We mainly bonded about our COD drs, and earlier today (maybe 10 hours ago?) she posted about having a dream where she killed herself and shifted because of it. Me and bia also bonded because we both werent and still aren’t in the best mental headspace. I’m really concerned for her, and I really hope with all my heart that she’s okay. An hour or two ago I checked tumblr again, and her account was just… gone. Deactivated. I don’t understand why she’d just deactivate her account without a post or a message or ANYTHING beforehand, leaving me and probably all her other mutuals to fear for the worst. I say probably because I don’t know how many mutuals she had, and I don’t know how many of them might know more, which is why I’m trying to reach as many people in our little niche as possible.

Dearest Bia, if you do see this, please answer. I’m extremely worried about you. I love you.

[cybxrcvnt]

He kinda looks like if Spider-Man and Doctor Strange had a baby

ʜᴏᴛᴛᴇꜱᴛ ꜱᴄᴇɴᴇꜱ — ᴀɴᴅʀᴇᴡ "ᴘᴏᴘᴇ'' ᴄᴏᴅʏ 6/♾️

[cybxrcvnt]

subway ride home from pride <3

(close ups under the cut)

[cybxrcvnt]

[cybxrcvnt]

A phone call 🤧

[cybxrcvnt]

TELL THEODORE HOW HANDSOME HE IS IN HIS NEW SWEATER

Everyone tell him he looks handsome 🥰

[cybxrcvnt]

Oh I’m not okay

18+ MDNI

Thinking about being mutually needy with early seasons Daryl Dixon….

Both of you being so desperate for release and pent up that you just end up grinding on each other like your in heat with the same dazed, fucked out expression. Him holding you close and licking your face as you feel the outline of his cock thrusting up against your clit cause he’s just that needy for you. Staring into each others eyes as you chase your release, not daring to look away. Both whimpering and moaning the occasional praises into each others ears. You leaving with a wet face and him with bite marks all over his biceps…😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

[cybxrcvnt]

WAIT BAE i'm 17, and ik your account mdni 💔💔 is that ok??

Hi Lovee 🥰

This is my main blog, I have a 2nd blog about shifting @truth-shifts that you can follow if you’d like 🤭

And in Australia the age of consent is 16, so 17 is perfectly fine anyways !!

[cybxrcvnt]

It’s me and 111 against the world

What’s your angel number? Like the one you feel most drawn/connected to.

Mine is 222

[cybxrcvnt]

After the cut

with sam gone trying to get food and dean in the shower, your bed felt too big and too cold without them. you curled your fingers around the silk sheets, bare legs tangling in the fabric as you let out a soft sigh. dean had disappeared into the bathroom nearly twenty minutes ago, and the sound of running water had long since died.

"deeeean," you called, voice syrupy-sweet, teasing, but there was no answer.

you pouted, shifting onto your stomach, the soft bounce of your chest against the mattress making you shiver. maybe he got caught up shaving? you knew he liked to take his time sometimes, but this was ridiculous.

another minute passed, then another, and finally, with a huff, you slipped off the bed, padding barefoot toward the bathroom door.

your hand barely brushed the handle when it swung open—slammed open, actually—and there stood dean, sweat beading along his brow, chest heaving beneath his half-unbuttoned flannel. his belt was barely looped back through, his jeans riding scandalously low, and his knuckles were white where they clenched the doorframe.

"jesus," he rasped, voice thick, wrecked. his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, eyes dark, pupils blown wide. he looked...worn out.

your brows furrowed, but before you could say anything, something slipped from his grip—a glossy magazine. a playboy magazine. the one from that old playboy shoot, the one with you sprawled out on the hood of a red pickup trunk with nothing but a flannel showcasing your tits, little daisy dukes pooled at your cowboy boots, brown cowboy perched on your head, and lips parted in a coy little ‘o.’

the moment stretched with realization hitting you like a truck. your lips parted, a knowing smirk curling at the edges.

"you were jerking off to me?"

dean let out a shaky breath, wiping a hand over his face like he was trying to pull himself together, but his cock—still straining against the front of his jeans—said otherwise.

"fuckin’ hell, sweetheart," he muttered, finally meeting your eyes, and damn if he didn’t look wrecked. "how the hell am i supposed to handle this when you're right there?"

your stomach flipped, heat pooling low, a slow, teasing giggle slipping from your lips as you stepped closer.

"you poor thing," you purred, dragging a manicured finger down his sweat-slick chest. "maybe next time, you should just take me to bed instead of locking yourself up in here all alone."

dean groaned, the sound rough, needy, and when you pressed up against him, his whole body shuddered.

"yeah?" his hands found your hips, grip bruising. "then get your ass back in bed, bunny. ‘cause i ain't wasting another goddamn second."

tags: @soldiersgirl @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @legalmente-loca @bluemerakis @whisperingdaze @cherrygirlfriend @figthoughts @sunsbaby @ambiguous-avery @bocadelinfierno @sunnyteume @bejeweledinterludes @k-slla @lunaleah @pieandflannel @zepskies @liiiilsss

[cybxrcvnt]

[cybxrcvnt]

Might I add…

never has a 50 year old man looked this good ive died and gone to dilf heaven

LIKE?? THAT'S A REAL MAN and i don't think i'll ever recover WHY ISN'T HE MINE WHY WHY WHY

[cybxrcvnt]

Because you’re selfish. Because I love you. In a way you… you can’t understand. Maybe you never will. But if that day should come, if you should ever have one of your own, well, then… I hope you do a little better than me. THE LAST OF US 2.06 "The Price" (2025) // THE LAST OF US PART II (2020)

[cybxrcvnt]

FUUUHHHHCCCKKKKK

Greetings, you talented writer! 🩵

I'm here to request something - if that's okay?

I'm in the mood for some Daryl thirst. 🫢 All I'm saying is Daryl ✨️ manspreading ✨️. I don't know. There's just something so hot about this... Reader sees him doing that and... you know. I think you catch my drift. 🤭 Maybe this could he combined with some thigh riding? It's entirely up to you, though.

Thank you - no matter if you choose to write this or not. 🩵

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. Sit

⌇daryl dixon x reader

⌇summary: not much too summarize daryl’s manspreading and i #needthat

⌇warnings: smut, thigh riding

⌇word count: 1.0k

a/n thigh riding is actually one of my favorite things to write anon thank you :3 ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

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Just the two of you sitting side by side on the steps in front of the Alexandria house, legs stretching toward the garden, your boots still a little dusty from the run earlier.

Daryl had that usual lean in his body. Elbows on knees, legs spread wide, loose and careless in that signature way of his. He was talking low, muttering about something, plans for tomorrow’s patrol maybe, or that new batch of ammo Rosita was working on finding, but you weren’t hearing a single word.

You were too far gone, brain trapped somewhere between the stretch of his denim over that thick thigh and the slow drag of his fingers adjusting the leather strap on his wrist.

God, he looked good like this. Unbothered. Calm. Wide open stance like he owned the space. Like no one could touch him, and by extension, you, sitting next to him like you belonged there. Like you were his. And you were. But something about seeing him like this made your whole body ache.

“You hearin’ me or what?”

His voice finally cut through, pulling your gaze up, and even that felt like a fight. Your eyes dragged slow from his thigh, past his belt, to the sliver of skin under his tank top, and then up to his face.

Daryl was watching you now, brow pulled slightly, blue eyes sharper.

You blinked. “What?”

He shifted a little, turning his body more toward you, leg brushing yours. “Said your name like three times.”

“Oh.” You choked out. “Sorry. I was just—thinking.”

He stared at you a second longer. Not pushing. Just watching. Then his voice dropped a notch.

“Yeah?” he murmured. “What were ya thinkin’ about, huh?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, shoulders rising a little. You didn’t answer.

He leaned in, eyes narrowing slightly. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong, is there?”

“No, no, just—” You exhaled slow, pulse ticking up. “It’s just…”

Daryl’s hand landed on your knee, rough thumb dragging over the fabric of your jeans.

“C’mere.”

You froze.

“What?”

His palm moved higher, settling warm on your thigh now, grip firm. “Y’can’t stop starin’,” he said, voice quieter now, almost curious. “Might as well come sit, huh?”

You swallowed, heart in your throat. The heat between your legs flared like a spark caught fire.

Your body moved before your brain caught up. You swung one leg over, straddling his thigh carefully, weight sinking down with a soft gasp. His jeans were thick, the muscle beneath them even harder.

“There,” he muttered, eyes dragging down to where your hips met his leg. His hands stayed low on your waist, resting there like he didn’t need to do much. “That what you wanted?”

You nodded, breath shaky.

He leaned forward a little, voice a whisper now. “Then go on.”

You slid down onto Daryl’s thigh with a slow, deliberate ease, feeling the rough scrape of his jeans against your bare skin beneath your clothes. His thigh was rock solid, thick and steady beneath you, and the heat radiating off him hit you like a damn wildfire, stoking a fire deep inside your core.

Your hips rocked forward tentatively at first, pressing down, grinding against the hard muscle as you searched for that perfect friction. The scrape of denim on denim sent a sharp jolt through you, making your breath hitch with an unspoken need. Slowly, you began moving. Rolling your hips in slow, sinful circles, dragging yourself along the edge of the ache that was already blooming low in your belly.

Daryl’s hands found your hips, rough fingers curling possessively around your skin through the fabric, holding you close but letting you lead the pace. His touch was firm but gentle, like he was claiming you without saying a word, and damn if it didn’t make you want to move faster.

You leaned into him, body trembling as you pressed your core harder against that unforgiving muscle, the friction pulling at every nerve ending. Your breath came out ragged as you ground your hips harder, the friction between you and him sending bursts of heat spreading through your thighs, up into your soaked panties.

Your fingers threaded through his tangled hair, tugging lightly, craving more of his solid presence beneath you. Daryl’s low growl vibrated through his chest, rumbling deep and raw, matching the wild thudding of your heart. “Yeah jus’ like that baby,” he murmured, voice thick with want.

You quickened your pace, riding him hard and relentless, every motion a delicious torment that had your body burning and trembling all at once. The scratch of his jeans, the heat of his skin, the deep rumble of his voice, it all pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

Daryl’s hands squeezed your hips, fingers digging in, pulling you flush against him as your grinding turned into a desperate, filthy rhythm. You could feel the pulse pounding beneath your skin, the steady muscle flexing beneath your cunt, and it sent shivers of need spiraling straight to your core.

You whimpered low, voice barely a breath, “Fuck, Daryl…”

His lips brushed your ear, hot and rough as he whispered, “You feelin’ me, baby? You gonna let go?”

You nodded, breath catching, hips bucking harder as the ache inside twisted tight, ready to snap.

With one last rough grind, the you broke. Hot, wild, and fucking messy, and you cried out softly, trembling as waves of pleasure rolled through you, your body shaking on his thigh.

Daryl pulled you close after, arms wrapping you tight, his breath slow and steady against your skin. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, voice low and proud. “Only you.”

You melted into him, heart pounding, body still tingling, feeling the raw connection between you both like nothing else mattered but this.

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